As a kid growing up in Hollister, my secret fantasy was to soar
in the sky over my hometown. I don’t mean in an airplane. I mean
gliding through the clouds, up, up and away
… like Superman.
Last Saturday afternoon, I came as close to fulfilling that
fantasy as any mortal possibly can. I went on a sailplane adventure
with Drew Pierce, owner of Bay Area Glider Rides in Hollister.
As a kid growing up in Hollister, my secret fantasy was to soar in the sky over my hometown. I don’t mean in an airplane. I mean gliding through the clouds, up, up and away … like Superman.
Last Saturday afternoon, I came as close to fulfilling that fantasy as any mortal possibly can. I went on a sailplane adventure with Drew Pierce, owner of Bay Area Glider Rides in Hollister.
A cloud cap hung over the South Valley when I arrived at the Hollister Municipal Airport that morning, delaying any gliders from taking off until noon. I put my time to good use by chatting with some of the glider pilots as they put their aircrafts together for a club race that afternoon.
“This is my first love,” said Jonathan Hughes, a San Carlos resident who, when he’s not soaring through the clouds, works as the engineering manager for a software company. He recalls how he became addicted to the sport.
“I came down here, took a ride and never left,” he told me. “It’s really a special feeling.”
Other glider pilots told me the same thing. They described a tranquil connection they felt with nature whenever they soared high with the birds. And how they’d developed an almost intimate knowledge of weather. They described cloud formations and uplifts and thermal drifts.
That morning, I met Greg Edwards and his girlfriend Milia Martinez. They’d traveled to Hollister from Fremont. Only five minutes before, Edwards learned he would take his first glider ride – a tour over Monterey Bay – as a special present from Martinez for his 38th birthday.
Blue patches started creeping through the clouds. After about an hour, sky conditions allowed the sailplanes to take off. Glider pilot Haven Rich helped the nice couple into the backseat of his sailplane. He gave them a quick “security check,” asking if they had any explosives or weapons. They laughed.
This was considered a “commercial flight,” Rich said in all seriousness as he buckled Martinez’s seatbelt. So he was required by Federal Aviation Administration rules to make sure they weren’t planning any terrorist activities.
Shortly after, as a powered airplane lifted their sailplane into the South Valley sky, I wished them a bon voyage. A couple of hours later, I met them after their return.
“Did Haven take you to heaven?” I asked.
“It was just gorgeous,” Martinez said. “He was really a great pilot. He did a fabulous job.”
The couple described flying over Moss Landing along the coast, and over the waves of Monterey Bay dotted with sailboats that afternoon.
“The freedom of flying and the rush of the wind … it has a real calming effect,” Edwards said. “This was definitely a birthday to remember.”
I couldn’t wait for my turn. As Pierce wiped down the plexiglass shield of his two-seater Duo Discus – the same German-built model of sailplane used in the movie “The Thomas Crown Affair” – the last of the race sailplanes launched up to the blue.
Before I knew it, I was inside the front seat of the Duo Discus aligned along the airport tarmac looking west. I felt a little uncertain about the nylon tow rope someone attached to the nose of the plane. It was something you could buy at Orchard Supply Hardware. This slender umbilical cord connected the nose of our sailplane to the powered aircraft that pilot Quest Richlife would fly to pull us into the sky.
Heading down the runway as we built speed, I snapped photos of our takeoff. Suddenly, I looked down and saw the ground quickly dropping. We rose toward the clouds. Up, up and away … like Superman.
A glider flight feels very different compared with an airplane ride. There’s no mechanical drone of engines, just a wispy sound of air passing over the glider’s fuselage. There’s no airplane motor vibration, either, which adds to the serene ambiance.
My stomach felt little abrupt lifts and drops as our wings maneuvered through the constant changes of the wind. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was like a gentle roller-coaster ride.
Looking down on the South Valley terrain, I identified landmarks below I knew since childhood. Sunlight shot off the mirror-like Hollister sewage ponds next to Highway 156. Over to the right lay San Juan Bautista. I easily recognized the Spanish mission’s rust-red roof.
Higher we climbed. I peered down at the contoured hills and canyons of the Gabilan Mountain Range – an unmade bed of topography. I observed mysterious lines etched into a section of this terrain. And then Pierce pointed out the minuscule motorcross riders along them. I realized I now was looking down on Hollister Hills State Park.
Suddenly, our tow rope shot away from us. Pierce had just released the sailplane. We banked sharp to the right, and I felt the centrifugal pull on my stomach.
Drew found a thermal lift – an “elevator” – and we began circling upwards at a thousand feet a minute. I looked at the computerized altimeter in front of me. Rising numbers shot past the 3,000-foot mark. Fremont Peak stood dead ahead. I observed people on top of the South Valley’s famous mountain top pinnacle. Beyond its crest lay the hazy blue of Monterey Bay.
We circled along, taking the elevator almost to the cloud level. Drew leveled off perhaps 10 or 20 feet below them and gave me a lesson on cumulus cloud formation: When water moisture in the ground and air is heated by the sun’s energy, it invisibly rises. At a certain altitude it hits the dew point. Air pressure and the temperature let moisture droplets start to cling together, forming clouds.
“See how level the bottom of the clouds are,” he pointed out to me.
In awe, I gazed at the bottom of the fluffy floating mountains of mist. We now skimmed a few feet under a grey ceiling. Hanging tendrils of fog snaked at the bottom of this immense shelf. If I could just reach out, like Superman, I’d easily touch the cloud above.
Suddenly, the glider seemed to stop. We now stood still and the clouds accelerated along over us. But glancing down at the ground, I saw the cloud shadows frozen on the convoluted hills. The illusion broke. It was our sailplane that was definitely speeding along.
As our flight continued, we soared over Hollister. The community’s buildings and streets spread below. Looking down on Park Hill on the northern end of the downtown district, I easily identified the house where I’d grown up. Over Hollister’s San Benito High School was a parking lot carnival. People on amusement rides appeared microscopic. They probably had no idea I now spied on them. The sailplane was much too silent to reveal itself.
We continued along over Fairview Road east of town. Farms and ranches created a crazy quilt pattern cut sharply by various roads and avenues. Pacheco Pass was not far away, and I thought it might be fun to explore its geological wonders by sailplane. But the time had come to head back.
As we made our airport approach, Pierce instructed me how to lower the landing gear. I pushed forward on a small lever on the right side of the glider. The descending wheels created drag, causing the Duo Discus to shake a bit.
“Sorry it’s getting a little bumpy up here,” Pierce said.
“I don’t care about any little bumps up here,” I replied. “I care about one big bump down there.”
We circled around the airfield as we made our approach. Then we made a sharp dive toward the runway, passing over traffic along San Felipe Road. From my vantage point near the sailplane’s nose, the ground sped toward us with an uncomfortable acceleration. I’m ashamed to say it. I squealed out loud.
And then I felt the quick jolt and heard a screech as we touched concrete. Not one of his better landings, Pierce admitted as we rolled along the runway.
“Hey, any landing we can walk away from is perfect enough for me,” I said.
As the sailplane slowed to a stop in the grassy parking spot next to the runway, I truly felt an elated sensation. My only disappointment with the flight was it had ended.
Pierce lifted the sailplane’s plexiglass shield. After climbing out, I gazed up at the clouds above and marveled. I had just come down from them. A childhood fantasy had been fulfilled that breezy afternoon.
Up, up and away … just like Superman.
Bay Area Glider Rides
Monterey Bay Sailplane Adventure is a sailplane tour over the Monterey Bay area. On the way back to the Hollister Municipal Airport, passengers fly over the Gabilan Mountain range and look down on San Juan Bautista and the San Andreas faultline. A variety of flight packages are available, and price is determined by length of flight. A 55-minute ride is $299 for one or two passengers. The combined passenger weight limit is 350 pounds. Details: Bay Area Glider Rides at 1-800-696-7627 or online at www.bayareagliderides.com.
