Tricked teen trolloped
There are some lovely beaches down in the south west corner of
Western Australia. Long stretches of pristine sand dividing the Indian Ocean
from the dense forests of tall karri trees. Hundreds of kilometres of
unpolluted and mostly unpopulated coastline stretched like a silver ribbon
between rockbound headlands. Very nice - except when your idiot of an husband
has bogged down the family four wheel drive on one of those deserted beaches.
Believe me, there's no better way of exploring the strengths of a
relationship than sharing a shovel on a scorching hot December day,
especially when all your joint efforts to dig large holes in fine sand are
proving futile. Which was one of the reasons why our marital relationship was
sinking even faster than the Suzuki. Not that any of it my fault.
I hadn't wanted to drive way out of town and down some bush track to
go rock fishing. As far as I'm concerned fishing is an old man's occupation.
Jeff isn't even thirty yet, nor am I, so I thought we could have found
something more interesting to do on a Saturday morning. Still, fishing was
what he wanted to do and the only alternative if he stayed indoors was having
him watch cricket on the TV - and compared to watching cricket, throwing a
fishing line into the sea is an epic adventure full of drama and excitement.
So here we were bogged down before we'd even got to the fishing spot
and with no way of getting somebody to come out and help us. The nearest
sealed road was five kilometres away, five kilometres of bare dirt trail
bulldozed through the trees. No other signs of life on the beach, not even a
boat in sight anywhere and Jeff snarling at me all the time just because I
happened to be driving the bloody vehicle when it sank down to the axles. He
was the one who was telling me where he wanted to go! The most annoying thing
of all was my job - I'm a nurse and I was rostered on for the evening shift
in the local hospital. A fine fool I was going to look if I couldn't even
phone in and let them know I couldn't make it.
Then something entirely unexpected happened. I was walking back from
the treeline with an armful of old branches to push under the back wheels
when I heard an engine. At first I thought it was a car and then I saw a
small aircraft skimming along the shoreline so low it was well below the tops
of the karri trees. It was the strangest looking thing I'd ever seen - not
like a normal plane with a wing on each side. Instead there was just one wing
something like the sail of a yacht, with red and white patterns on it.
Hanging underneath the wing was the rest of the plane, what there was of it.
Have you ever been to a fairgound and had a ride in one of those
little plastic pods that hang down from the edge of a big wheel? If you can
imagine something like that, only smaller, with the pilot sitting in it and
and a windscreen down around his knees, you've got the idea. The only other
difference was a nose wheel at the front and two more wheels at the back with
pointy hoods over them. Yes, and the engine of course. The plane was flying
so low that I could easily see it behind the pilot, with the prop right at
the back of the pod, pushing the strange little contraption along. I suppose
it was travelling about as fast as a car would on a normal road and as it
came level the pilot waved to us with one hand. The other one was resting on
a bar - like a trapeezee bar, I guess - which was the bottom piece of a
triangle which came to a point underneath the wing. There were two more metal
bars that I could also see, from the front and back of the pod and also
joined together underneath the wing. They obviously carried the weight of the
pod and somehow the pilot was steering himself around with the bar he was
holding.
Anyway, whatever he was doing and however he was doing it, it seemed
like he was having a much more enjoyable morning than we were. As soon as the
plane was past us the engine revved up and the plane climbed away at a steep
angle until my eyes were watering from the strong sunlight as I tried to
watch it. The show seemed to be over, although when I got back to the Suzuki
Jeff was still scanning the sky with his hands cupped around his eyes.
"That must be what they call a microlight, or an ultralight. Strange
looking thing, like an overgrown hang glider. That's the way they steer hang
gliders, with a bar attached to the wing they push and pull against. It moves
the weight of the aircraft underneath in relation to the centre of gravity."
In case I haven't mentioned it yet, Jeff is a teacher, a high school
teacher... oh, you guessed, did you? If there were any teachers on the
Titanic they probably went down in an improvised class room giving each other
lectures on the way icebergs are formed. Anyway, since he was only wearing
thongs, I dropped the tangle of branches on top of his bare feet as a means
of self expression. He expressed himself back to me and the plane was
forgotten about as we bickered at each other. Until we heard it again.
I was a little surprised to see it coming back again from the same
direction as before and even lower and slower. It looked to me as if it
belonged in a Star Wars' movie, with its strange shape and the way it was
hanging in the wind like a mechanical hawk. I thought it must be a hell of a
way to fly, in a seat with nothing around but empty air. Then the engine
noise dropped off and I quickly changed my mind about even thinking about
wanting to try it - the wing had dipped lower and it seemed the ultralight
was going to crash. The wheels wavered around unsteadily a metre or so above
the hard packed sand left by the ebbing tide, like a drunk trying to get his
arse back onto a bar stool. Then the ultralight settled down onto the sand
with the sudden deftness of a seagull dropping onto a morsel of food. Little
gusts of water sprayed out from underneath the wheels as the pod's weight
fell onto them. The wet sand seemed to slow their rotation down very quickly,
the plane slowing down to a walking speed about fifty metres away from us and
the pilot revving the engine to keep his wheels turning until he was level
with the Suzi. Then the high pitched yammering of the engine stopped and the
prop blades jerked to a halt. The pilot carefully tilted the wing over,
keeping control of it with the steering bar he was holding until the wingtip
nearest to us was resting on the sand.
Jeff and I were watching all this with surprise and interest. We kept
on watching as a tall and slender man in tight fitting blue flying overalls
unstrapped himself and climbed out of the pod. In fact it was only his figure
- or his lack of it - which showed him to be a man because his head was
completely covered with a wrap around motor bike helmet that had a tinted
glass vision panel in the front of it. By God, I thought, I was right, not
only does the plane look like something out of Star Wars but the pilot
dresses like Darth Vader.
Before he even touched the helmet the pilot took something out of the
pod that looked like a giant corkscrew, walked along the wing to the
down-tipped end and drove the corkscrew into the sand before tying a lanyard
at the top of the corkscrew to the wing tip. The intention was clearly to
prevent the wing being blown around. At close range my first impression of it
being like a yacht's sail also seemed right. The whole thing was just a
collection of metal battens wrapped around with coloured fabric. It seemed
incredible anybody would trust their life to such a flimsy support. Still, it
wasn't my worry, though as the pilot finally removed his helmet I watched
with interest to see what sort of a madman he was. A pity there was no chance
of him being Harrison Ford.
It was another surprise to see that he was pretty old. In his forties
for sure, though very well preserved, with a lot of dark hair turning grey at
the temples, a sharp angled face with a wide smile that showed off excellent
teeth and crisp blue eyes with crinkles of smile lines around them. Behind
the good looks there was confidence as well, self confidence and self
assurance. If I'd seen this guy in hospital whites I'd have tagged him
straight away not only as a doctor but as a highly skilled consultant.
Success smells on some men like aftershave, an enticing aroma which never
fades away. And as we were looking at him he was looking at us: at Jeff,
briefly, then at me, for a longer time.
"Hi, I'm Brett Reynolds." A nice voice, sharp but well controlled.
Jeff introduced us: "Jeff Pearson, and this is my wife Sandra. You've
caught us at an awkward moment. We've got bogged down and can't seem to get
out of it."
"Yeah, I could see you were in strife. I guess I can't give you a tow
but I thought you might want some messages passed on. I couldn't see any
antennas on your wagon and I guess you'd be well out of mobile phone
coverage."
"That's right. We tried to use the mobile but it was a waste of time."
The pilot was still looking at both of us but I knew that most of his
attention was on me. Not that I could really blame him for that because I
wasn't wearing anything underneath my sweat soaked tee-shirt and my shorts
were cut about as short as they could be. In fact I felt quite flattered that
I could get a guy like that taking a lot of second looks.
"Is there anybody around here who could help you out?" Brett asked.
"Eddie Turner would come out," I said.
"Yeah, Eddy would be great." Jeff turned to the pilot to explain.
"Eddie Turner is a mate of mine, got a Land Cruiser with a winch on it. He'd
come and pull us out if we could let him know where we are. He lives quite a
way down the road though, in Kilkenny Ponds. Must be about fifty or sixty k's
from here."
Brett smiled widely, showing off his teeth even more: "It's rather
less. It's forty seven point two kilometres from here. Or at least it is to
the Kilkenny airstrip as the crow flies. I suppose it must be another five or
six k's into the town itself. I've got it nailed down on the GPS because I
flew out from there this morning. My car's still there."
"Oh." Jeff smiled a little himself, clearly as relieved as I was at
the prospect of being saved a lot of walking and a lot of trouble. "Maybe you
could phone through to Eddie when you get back?"
"No problem. It's a lovely day for a flight and I doesn't matter to
me which direction I fly in. I can go back to Kilkenny Ponds now and call in
from the strip. With the wind blowing the direction it is I should be there
in about half an hour. What's your mate's phone number?"
Jeff told him and Brett wrote it down on the back of his hand.
"Could you do us another favor and phone the local hospital as well?
Let them know that Sandra won't be able to come in for her shift tonight."
Brett nodded and seemed concerned: "You're a nurse, Sandra?"
"Yes."
"Can't have the hospital short of nurses - you never know when there
might be an emergency. Why don't I give you a lift back to Kilkenny Ponds in
the trike and then drive you into town?"
I didn't quite realise what he meant by a trike until he nodded
towards the ultralight and my stomach flipped over like a tossed pancake:
"Me! Go up in that thing!"
My obvious fear made him shake his head in rueful amusement. "Sandra,
it's not like bungy jumping off Sydney Harbour Bridge - it's fun, and safe.
I'm a licenced and insured pilot and my passengers are all insured as well.
I've got a spare helmet and a spare set of overalls on board, though you'll
hardly need them in this hot weather. Believe me, you'd be safer on board a
trike than you would be on a 747." His eyes crinkled up in another sudden
smile. "And I should know, I fly 747's for QANTAS for a living."
It was an exciting idea and and an attractive one in many ways,
provided I didn't find myself gripped in total panic once we were off the
ground. Rather stunned, I walked over the ultralight and had a second look.
It was true, there were two seats in it, one behind the other, but that was
about all you could say there was. It was only at the front of the pod that
the top of the plastic windscreen came up to about waist level. On either
side of the front seat the bodywork was hardly ankle high, and barely much
more than that around the back one. I imagined myself looking straight down
from one of them, straight down into a drop of hundreds of metres and my
intestines wriggled around like a nest of angry snakes.
"It's just like riding a motorbike, only with a better view and
without all the road hazards," Brett said soothingly. "Why don't we go up for
just five minutes and if you don't like it I'll bring you straight back down
again."
"How would I tell you with all the noise?"
He held up a cable that hung from his helmet, showing me a plug at the
end of it: "The helmets have earphones and a mike built into them. We can talk
to each other as easily as we are doing now. Believe me, you'll never want to
come down once you've tried it."
Then he sort of looked sideways, to where Jeff was standing a few
paces away, and lowered his voice a little: "Or would you rather spend the
rest of the day stuck here?"
I didn't think Jeff heard that. Or if he did I'm sure he didn't hear
the insinuation in it that I did, a hint of surprise that somebody like me
was wasting her time in this sort of situation. Or maybe I was hearing things
which weren't really there. While I was standing undecided Brett reached
underneath the back seat and took out a helmet, then a neatly folded set of
overalls like the ones he was wearing.
"I can adjust the headband on the helmet for you, Sandra - there's
not much I can do about the flight suit but. Normally, you'd need at least a
jacket to keep the wind off but not now. A day like today, the only cool way
to enjoy yourself is flying."
Jeff came over and looked at the helmet and overalls I was holding:
"You're surely not going to try this, are you, Sandra? You'd be scared stiff."
If he'd wanted to stop me flying then it was the worst possible thing he
could have said. Of course he doesn't really think of me as a frail woman - he
often says that he'd faint if he had to deal with some of the bloodier
situations that come along in my job. It was simply a typical case of a male
opening his heart and his mouth without remembering to put his brain somewhere
in the loop between them. And he knew it as soon as I did, hastily trying to
back up without totally backing down.
"I mean I'd be frightened myself, to go up in one of these things.
Anybody would be, to fly around hanging underneath a few strips of aluminium
and fabric. And the hospital can certainly get by without you for one day."
It was too late though, my temper was up. "I'm not going to miss a shift
if I can help it. Anyway, I'll probably never have another chance to do
something like this and I want to give it a go, just to see what it's like."
"Aww, come on, Sandra, people crash in these things. It happens all the
time."
"People crash in cars as well and that happens all the time."
He was genuinely concerned about me, not simply trying to carry on
the squabble we'd had before, I knew that. But I wasn't going to let him stop
me now that I'd made my mind up. After all it had been pretty much of a
wasted day so far and here was a chance to do something I could talk about
for weeks afterwards, something exciting. It would have been hard to live
myself if I'd turned it down. The only real question, the one I was being
very careful not to ask myself, was whether I was as excited by Brett
Reynold's obvious interest in me as I was at the idea of flying in his plane.
Adjusting the helmet was no problem: trying to get into the flying
suit was. It was cut for a man's body, a big man, and I'm a short girl, yet
the seams around my hips almost reached breaking strain; I had to go behind
the wagon and take off my shorts before I could wriggle into the suit. The
real problem was in front though. As much as I tugged at the zip, I couldn't
get it up past my breasts. Like my hips, they've always been too large for
easy packaging. Eventually I had to go back to the men with everything
hanging out over the zip and only the damp material of the Taiwanese
tee-shirt between me and them. Not only that, but carrying my shorts in my
hand as well.
Brett's mouth twitched a fraction before he looked away at the
horizon as I held the sides of the overalls together while Jeff pulled the
zipper together with brute strength. It was a minor demonstration of
gentlemanly modesty which ended as soon as Jeff wasn't looking at him,
because Brett's eyes immediately fastened on my squashed tits with frank
interest. Like Sylvester eyeing Granma's canary, I thought, and hoping to
find a way into the cage. If that was really what he hoping for he was in for
a disappointment.
I watched in surprise as Brett knelt down behind one of the back
wheels. There were three protruding metal legs that attached the wheel to the
pod and in between them was a piece of metal about as long as my arm curved
into a 'C' shape. It was apparently held onto the top leg by a clamp at each
end, which he undid. Then he stood up and reclamped the 'C' onto one of the
support arms on the side of the control bar before doing the same thing on
the other side of the ultralight. I asked him what he was doing.
"You'll have to sit in the front seat, Sandra, to keep the weight
distribution right. The control bar will be in front of you but I'll have my
hands on these extensions from the back seat to do the piloting. That's what I
like about these ultralights, everything is as simple as it can be. A control
bar and a foot throttle and that's about it."
He bowed like a courtier and stretched out his hand towards the pod: "My
lady, your sky carriage awaits."
After all the trouble he'd gone to I couldn't refuse to give it a try
however nervous I felt. I wasn't anymore nervous than Jeff though, who
watched Brett strapping me into the front seat with a kind of desperate look
on his face as if I was going up in a space shuttle. Mind you, I don't think
I would have felt much different myself if I had been about to blast off. It
was hard to believe that I was really going to go up into the sky in this
thing. Brett held the helmet over my head and quietly talked to me as I
smoothed my hair back.
"As soon as this is on, I'll plug in the intercom cable and switch it
on. All you'll hear is static until I plug in as well. Nod your head if you're
OK and then I'll untie the wing tip and straighten the wings. When the bar is
horizontal in front of you just hold it steady while I get in the back. All
clear?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Fine. I've pinned the front throttle so it can't be worked. The only
thing you have to worry about are the bars underneath your feet - they're for
steering the nosewheel, so don't press on them when we're taking off and
landing. The rest of the time you can waggle them around as much as you like.
OK?"
I nodded, and again after the helmet was on. It looked bulky but it
was surprisingly light. I'd never worn one before, never even been on on a
motorbike because I thought they were dangerous. No wonder I held onto the
control bar nervously when it settled over in front of me. I could feel my
hands trembling on the rubber handgrips and then realised it wsn't just me
that was twitching but the wing as well, shivering and bobbing at the wind's
touch. I saw Brett speak to Jeff, and afterwards Jeff took off his own shirt
and walked down the beach with it, off to one side on the soft sand. I
wondered why. Then Brett came back with the corkscrew securing pin hanging by
its lanyard from his wrist. He knelt down by the front of the pod, grinned up
at me, put his hands on my knees and spread them wide apart.
I gasped in surprise, the noise muffled inside the helmet, and then
realised he was bending forward to stow the pin away underneath my seat.
Which was a totally innocent thing to do I guessed, but what wasn't so
innocent was where his knuckles brushed against me as he slipped the lanyard
off his wrist. But again, it something that was over and done with before I
had a chance to even let go of the control bar. It might even have been a
genuine accident, but I didn't think so. It was a clear message, as if I
already needed one, about what Mr Brett Reynolds would like to do with Mrs
Sandra Pearson if given even half a chance. Well, there was one thing about
it, at least I was a lot safer from his advances in his plane than I would
have been in his car. Uh!
I felt the pod settle down as he got into the back seat. The back
ledge would probably be a better way of describing it, higher than the front
seat and so close to it that Brett's legs were stretched out on either side
of me with my elbows brushing against his knees. Never again, I thought,
would I complain about the economy class seats in jet planes.
A moment later the engine started and everything began vibrating, as
though I was sitting in a massage chair. That wasn't bad but even with the
helmet on the engine noise was uncomfortably high. A hundred metres along the
beach Jeff was standing still, holding his shirt up above his head. I realised
that it was an indication of which way the wind was blowing.
My headphones clicked and I heard Brett's voice very clearly: "OK,
Sandra, I've got the control bar now. You'll probably want to hold onto the
sides of your seat to begin with. This damp sand will hold us back a little
but we've got eighty horsepower pushing us and we'll soon reach flying speed.
We'll take off about where Jeff is now. Is everything OK with you?"
I clutched the handgrips on either side of the seat and tried to swallow
a lump of solid air down my dried out throat: "Yes, I'm fine."
"Good girl. Feet off the pedal bars and hands off the control bar for a
moment or two. Apart from that relax and enjoy the views...."
The engine roared even louder, the ultralight began moving, I held
onto the arm grips with a death grip, we were moving faster, much faster, a
small wave was breaking along the beach, toppling over into white water, Jeff
was getting closer and closer, the vibration was getting worse - oh fuck, I
must be mad to be here!
Suddenly the vibration stopped, the engine seemed a lot further away
and I was looking down at Jeff's upturned face. Then the control bar was
pushed away from me and the nose of the pod lifted up towards the sky as if
it were a rearing horse. I couldn't help myself from looking down, to see the
sea suddenly growing wider with the breaking waves along the edge of it like
crinkled up tearings of white tissue paper.
"How are you feeling, Sandra?"
"Alright - I think."
"OK, we'll level out now, and fly straight on for a few minutes while
you get used to things."
Getting used to so many conflicting feelings was going to take longer
than that. In one sense I felt totally exposed, with only the finger thick
vertical support bar in front of me and the wind drumming against my overalls,
yet behind the helmet's faceplate there was a peaceful little world where I
could talk to Brett without any effort at all. The wind seemed to be blowing
away the noise of the engine as well, making a combined background noise which
wasn't really bothersome at all. I suppose it would have been a miserable
experience on a cold day without thick clothing, but it had been a scorching
forty degrees down on the beach and the blast of moving air was as wonderfully
cooling as Brett had promised it would be.
In another sense I was totally confined, by the straps, and by the
control bar pressed close against my chest. In another way - a breath
takingly marvellous way - I'd never felt so free in all my life. Who hasn't
been a kid dreaming of finding a way of flying like a bird? Not being shot
through the sky miles high watching old movies, but real flying, down around
the tree tops and hurdling over hilltops with giant's steps, being able to
lift your eyes up to the distant horizons or down to something so close you
feel you can reach out and touch it. Of course we've all felt like that, and
most of us have grown up and forgotten the dream. And now, suddenly and
without expecting it, I was living it for real.
Out on my right were kilometres and kilometres of trees, and an
occasional movement of something brightly coloured scuttling underneath them.
I was catching glimpses of the coastal highway between the tall trunks, or at
least of the cars driving down it. On the left I could now see through the
top of the sea, to dark patches with green stains behind them. It was
puzzling until I realised that the dark patches were rocks just under the
water with patches of seaweed growing where they were protected from the
waves by the rocks. It seemed so strange that an area I thought I knew quite
well looked so different from up here.
"How do you feel now, Sandra?"
"Pretty good." I was surprised how calm I sounded.
"Not frightened?"
I thought about how to answer: "Yes, but I'm too busy looking around to
think much about it."
His chuckle came through the earphones: "Good answer. OK, we'll turn
around now and fly back over your husband. Give him a wave to let him know
you're OK and then we'll head for Kilkenny Ponds."
The turn was indeed frightening, at first, with the wing dipping over
and the pod skidding around. Then I forgot about it as we dived back over the
Suzuki and Jeff and I exchanged waves. Then another turn, but not so stomach
churning now I had some idea of what to expect.
Brett started singing over the intercom: "Jingle bells, jingle bells,
jingle all the way, oh, what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh...
OK, Sandra, we'll go up higher now and follow the coast for a while. There's
something on the other side of the next headland I saw just before I landed
that might interest you."
When we went over the headland I looked down the sheer drop of a
cliff face to where the sea was continually slapping against the land, and
felt only curiousity at the odd feeling of looking down at birds flying, the
stiff winged gulls whirling and turning along the cliff as if they were
scraps of paper caught inside a small hurricane. Somehow it seemed that the
height wasn't bothering me, which was the last thing I'd expected.
"There you are, Sandra, down on the right. That's something you don't
see ever day, not even up here."
We were passing over the headland on the other side and where Brett
was telling me to look was down in a corner of the sea between the cliffs and
the beach. Something was moving in the shallow water, a shimmering cloud
continually changing shape and flickering with sudden sparkles. Running in
and out of the cloud were dark lean shapes which seemed to cut passages
through it by their mere presence, the tiny individual slivers of silver
which made up the cloud constantly closing ranks again behind the intruders
as they moved on.
"What's happening, Brett?"
"It's sharks feeding off a school of sardines. Is school the right word
for sardines? Or should it be a can of sardines?"
I laughed and he laughed with me.
"Hey, Sandra, check out that boat ahead."
There was a high topped cabin cruiser anchored off the beach, a
kilometre or so ahead. I thought how odd it was that the crew should be so
close to a bunch of sharks in a feeding frenzy and not even know about it,
while we could see so much more merely by being a couple of hundred metres
higher up. As it turned out, I soon saw more than I'd expected, because Brent
put us into other turn over the boat, and kept on turning, so the left
wingtip seemed to be pointing straight down at deck while the boat looked as
if it were slowly rotating underneath us. It was an expensive looking boat
and a couple were lounging on sunchairs at the back. They looked expensive
too, in their own ways, he with his big pot belly, her with her blonde hair
and good figure. It was easy to see these things because neither of them had
a stitch on. Not that it seemed to bother them. The man casually waved his
hand to us without moving from his seat.
"I told you there was something interesting here," Brett said. "She's
nice but I'll bet she doesn't look as half as good as you would stretched in
the raw."
I decided not to respond to that remark. I saw the woman stand up and
look up at us, a glass in one hand, the other one also waving.
"Oh, dear, she's drooping a bit now. What about the guy, what do you
think about him?" Brett laughed: "A real hunk, hey?..."
"He hasn't got anything I haven't seen lots of times before."
The man reached out his hand towards the woman's bottom and began
stroking it.
"Yeah," Brett continued: "I think the lady with the natural blonde hair
could say the same thing. I suppose we'd better leave them in peace now." The
control bar flicked over to one side to bring us out of the turn and the boat
was whirled away out of my vision.
"OK, Sandra we'll go along the beach for a couple more kilometres,
climb a bit, then turn right. We'll be going along a valley with a lot of
cleared land that's used for grazing cattle. I wouldn't want to be low over
the forest if the engine suddenly quit for any reason. Even a trike needs a
little bit of space to land in."
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