What an experience!  What a thrill!  Go hang gliding.  Go now.  This experience changed my life and I promise it will change yours too.

The detailed account below tells of my adventures, but if you want a really quick snapshot of why this is an extraordinary feat, think of what it might feel like to be a bird for just one moment.  Now, consider that with a little effort, (and about $150-$200), you too can be airborne like a bird.  Ever wanted to be superman?  Jump off a hill without dying?  Do something truly insane?  Then do this - you will have the flight of your life. 

Why you should do it: adrenaline rush extraordinaire

What to consider: Find a place that is certified, with experienced instructors.  Tandem jumps are mandatory for first time gliders

Restrictions: Have to be less than 220 lbs in most cases.  If you’re looking for a parallel experience but can’t meet the weight limit, consider paragliding which has a higher weight limit

Details

I used to watch hang gliders float, catching the wind like prehistoric butterflies. I was ten then, maybe twelve, and I was afraid of my own shadow. This was the same period in my life in which I was chased by a toy poodle around Rio, in which I fainted at the sight of a snake in a magazine. In short, I was a chicken.

For twenty years I regretted not hang gliding in Rio. So, in 2009, when I returned to Brazil after two decades, I knew I had to hang-glide and put that inner flying demon to rest.

The First Attempt
On Friday the fourth of September, Rio was enrobed in winter, which meant rain, fog and crashing waves on the beaches of Ipanema. I was one of a group of 12 people, all fellow MBA students. Four to a taxi, we rode to the base of glorious Tijuca Mountain.

We were ushered into a little cottage filled with all kinds of wind and aviation technology. There were electronic vanes, flat screens blaring streaming radar feeds and all kinds of paraphernalia that reassured us that we were in the hands of Professionals.

We waited about an hour, but it was getting late and the news we received from head honcho Pedrao (Giant Peter) was not positive. The wind conditions were poor, no further flights were planned. Disheartened, we returned to our hotel, with plans to return on Sunday morning, our last day in Brazil.

The Second Attempt
Sunday brought with it the typical weekend fairs and shopping madness, and rain. Grey clouds, fog. The prospects of hang gliding were dimming. We decided to wait out the fog by spending our last morning in Rio doing touristy things.

Noon brought with it fewer clouds, and this time 16 of us piled into a large van and headed back to Tijuca. A half hour later we arrived and were told that the visibility was poor. The group groaned and in that unique manner that large congregations of people have, there was consensus that we ought to turn around, spend our last afternoon there in a guaranteed, meaningful way.

Two of us resisted. I had a dream to realize and my roomie Yesenia said she'd stay with me. If she hadn't, I know I couldn't have borne what happened next. It is entirely thanks to her that the following adventure transpired at all!

So Giant Peter urged us to be patient. We can’t control the wind, he told us. The van sped away with fourteen somewhat cross individuals, sans myself and my plucky roommate Yesenia. We stayed. We were prepared to wait it out.

Slippery Slopes
We were to ride to the summit of Tijuca Mountain, Pedrao stated. He summoned a kindly gentleman by the name of Fernando who pulled up in a sporty black Saab. We climbed in.

The first twenty minutes of the ride were lovely, peaceful. We drove past walled mansions and leafy entrances to parks that had small waterfalls and enchanting views of the marvelous city below us. Then, there came a steep turn. A sharp veering to the left and we entered through a small, unmarked gate. Unexpectedly, the road lolled upwards like the tongue of an angry stone goddess, angled at about 45 degrees. As we rode upwards, the car moaned and I got a strange feeling in my stomach.

I mentioned it was raining, right? Well, it was. The road became steeper still. The little black car sputtered, slipped and I thought nervously that I would die before ever getting to hang-glide. If ever I were convinced the driver was mad, it was at that moment when the he floored the accelerator and the car lost its footing on a 30 degree road. We were suspended in air, death was seconds away.

Miraculously, the road evened out, the car stabilized, and my heart rate started to normalize. We were half way there.

The Jaws of Hell
Five minutes of hellish road-tackling later, we came to a small parking lot. There were three or four vehicles stationed there beneath the lush foliage of the rainforest.

Tijuca Mountain is part of the world’s largest urban rainforest which spans 32 square kilometers. We felt lightheaded as we alighted from the car, relieved to be alive and to be on even ground.

Fernando led us under a wet tropical canopy and up a steep flight of stairs. I arrived at the top breathless and panting while Yesenia looked chipper and tireless.

The path opened up onto a muddy plane. A sea of gliders lay lined up before us, and my heart lifted at the colorful sight. There were men everywhere, the strong outdoorsy type. Yesenia and I grinned at each other.

We walked past the gliders to where the men seemingly disappeared and I gasped as I saw the launch ramp. Now, even if you’ve never gone hang gliding, you know as well as I do that there has to be some kind of a jumping point. I was expecting a jumping point, you know, an opening on the side of the mountain or something like that. I wasn’t expecting a downward sloping ramp that was being pelted with rain. I wasn’t expecting to freak out at the sight of the ramp. My reaction? I collapsed.

Not really and truly. More like, I crouched downwards and put my head between my knees, in the dramatic fashion that one sees on television. I believe my heart had stopped functioning.

Glider Brolly
I didn’t really have a heart attack, just being dramatic. Two hours passed. We sat on a ledge and waited. Nothing exciting happened. Nobody jumped. There was no visibility from the launch point. The rain had come, gone, come again and finally turned into a pesky drizzle. We had spent much of our mountaintop time crouching under the glider wings that some kind muscleman had placed by the ledge, seeking shelter from the rain.

The handsome army of men began to dwindle. It was 3 pm on a Sunday. There were beautiful Brazilian babes at home to return to. Wind v. Brazilian babes, guess who won? Two maverick gliding instructors held on. They told us to wait. Nature is unpredictable, they reiterated. They were the nut jobs amongst the men, willing nature to act as they commanded, and losing.

Another half hour ticked by till there were only five of us atop the peak. The infernal fog didn’t let up, affording us not even a glimmer of the land below. Fernando packed us into his car. We were quiet, our excitement had ebbed.

The Third Attempt
The ride down the mountain was an anti-climax. Fernando promised to take us to see some waterfalls, but we were too bummed out. Yesenia and I were supremely disappointed, we had been looking forward to boasting of our accomplishment, and nothing is more angering than having a good potential boast fest go wrong.

We were nearing the bottom of the mountain when Fernando’s cell phone rang. I heard him say something about “abriu?” which in Portuguese means “it opened?” and my heart began to race. He confirmed it in the next sentence. The fog had parted. We had a short window for our flight. Did we want to go back up? Yesenia and I let out whoops of delight, and Fernando turned around.

Hooked To a Wing
Up the hellish road again. More slipping tires. More nail-biting, but this time, we had ten minutes to get to the top or else we would miss the glide launch window. We were so pumped up that I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. We practically sprinted up the stairs, buoyed by the idea that launch time was finally here. At the muddy launch point, the two maverick instructors waited. They kitted us out in knee guards, funny suits and helmets.

Renato, my dreamy instructor, carried a 70-lb saffron glider to the top of the downward ramp which had been giving me diarrhea for the past three hours. He took me (pounding heart, shaky knees and all) to one end of the muddy plane, instructed me to hold on loosely to the straps on his funny suit (one hand on the strap behind his left shoulder, one hand at the strap on his right hip). I complied, and we ran across the muddy plane, practicing for our launch.

Apparently, it is important to RUN DOWN the ramp in order to launch properly. If you don’t run, you don’t launch properly, which means certain death if the drop off is anything as horrific as our drop off was. The momentum from running propels the glider off the launch point till it catches the wind and is suspended in air.

For all our waiting, I had never seen anyone launch before, I had no idea what I was in for. Yesenia (behind me) would at least have the benefit of seeing me cast off to the fates. Next I was hooked up to a cord that hung from the top of the glider. I was told to go stand on the ramp of certain death. I did the death march over, my stomach hurting from suspense.

The ramp which before had overlooked an ocean of white clouds now looked over a lovely mountainside dotted with little Lego houses. It was as if I were looking at a toy city beneath me. I realized then just how very high up we were.

A strange peace came over me as I stood on the precipice of that slope. I figured this was it. This was truly likely to be my last living moment on terra firma, for I was certainly jumping to my death. My heart stopped beating so atrociously, and for that moment I felt brave. I thought of Joan of Arc, knowing her moment had come, meeting it so peacefully, resignedly. I felt as brave as Joan, and my bravado surprised and pleased me in a macabre way.

Birds
Renato strapped himself in and looked seriously at me. He said it was time and then, told me to run. I ran, blindly, quickly, keeping my eyes on the horizon but not seeing anything for the multitude of thoughts that were running through my head. Renato held the glider in his arms and his running speed urged me forward.

Suddenly, I felt my feet leave the wooden ramp and I was tugged upwards in a quick, gentle motion. We were airborne. How can I begin to describe that feeling? We were truly sailing in the skies. The ground beneath us was a million miles away, the drizzle was gentle and soothing, the beach glimmered before us, and the air…

The air was a marvelous home. I had expected to feel cold, to be nervous at the great altitude, but all I could feel was peace and this unreal sense of belonging. I found myself envying the birds who get to do this at will.

Suffice it to say that hang gliding is the most peaceful, zen-like activity I have ever experienced. The air is comfortable to human skin, the clouds are soft against our cheeks and we are compatible creatures. The joy of that suspension is beyond description.

At one point I turned and saw Yesenia suspended in air behind me, soaring, sailing, and I knew at that instant that we had done it.

Once airborne, the last thing one thinks about is death. In fact, one forgets all about the height, instead marveling on the experience of flight. There is quietude in gliding, calm in the skies; the flight itself is smooth.

Twenty minutes or so must have passed by, but it was a blink of an eye. We sailed over the Atlantic Ocean and approached the land from the ocean’s side. The beach came into view and slowly the details of vehicles and people began to materialize. We were descending.

Descent
The instructors never spoke to us of landing. To be quite honest, I thought it wouldn’t matter anyway because I’d be dead somewhere along the way. So it was a surprise to have Renato release the cord that had kept my legs horizontal on the journey in preparation for landing. He told me to be prepared to run, and before I knew it, we were approaching an empty expanse of sand.

Thankfully the rain had driven people off the beach, so there was nobody there to crash into. By this time I was in a trance and didn’t particularly care what happened. I found myself instinctively following Renato’s instructions, but it felt very much as though I was on a commercial flight. The ground got closer as we moved forward, and next thing you know Renato was running (I was too short for my feet to touch the ground). We came to a quick stop and my feet were on the sand. It was as if I had stepped off my living room sofa.

I had expected bumps, some screaming, a broken arm at the least. When none of these transpired, I fell to the ground and kissed it. Drama is my forte, after all! A family of spectators was cheering as I looked up, my exhilaration was written all over my face, I was beaming like a fool.

I found myself smiling at a little girl. She must have been ten or eleven years old, clutching the hands of her father as he clapped for me, cheering on my accomplishment while I whooped and screamed and yelled for joy.

The little girl was looking at me, and when I smiled back at her, I knew what I saw in her shining eyes was something that had once been reflected in my own: admiration.

The Ending
Some distance away Yesenia disengaged from her glider. We ran to each other, embraced, our smiles stretching from ear to ear. The surge of adrenalin that rushed through me at that time was unbelievable, I felt unconquerable.

I know from talking with Yesenia, that she too shared this incredible feeling. Returning to the hotel in a blur, we were both on some kind of natural high. We celebrated our accomplishment by wolfing down chocolate banana crepes in a creperie near the hotel. It was the perfect ending to an extraordinary day.

Hang Gliding’s Effect on Cowards
I mentioned earlier that I was a coward, a lifelong coward. I feared riding horses or eating raw oysters. I missed out on so much because of my own, silly fears. Thus, hang gliding was for me a tremendous victory over myself. I had done the unthinkable, done it with grace, and come out feeling stronger, braver, better.

There are three lessons I walked away with on that stupendous day that have forever changed me:

1) Perseverance is rewarded
2) Fear is conquerable
3) The truest heroes are often the ones we least expect

I ate raw oysters in the shell that night. I rode a horse five days later. The experience opened up a new me. I am suddenly planning my next adventure. Skydiving, perhaps? Rafting down the Zambezi? Climbing Mount Fuji? Whatever it is, I know that I am capable of doing it.

Our time here is limited. Our experiences, activities and memories of loved ones are all we have in the end. There are men like George Leigh Mallory (a personal hero) who never scale their ambitions, or men like Neil Armstrong who through accidents of fate change the course of the world with their accomplishments. There are people like my Aunt Anika who spend their lives caring for invalid relatives, or children, two thankless but momentous tasks. And there are people like Yesenia, who may never win any popularity awards, but who are steadfast, good and undeterred by popular opinion – the enablers of dreams.

Their stories and accomplishments are varied, but in the end, these are the stories worth telling and the people worth knowing. Often, these stories involve going against the dictates of the madding crowd, or more scarily, against one’s own better judgment.

So, my dear friends: persevere and fear not. Seek out the truest heroes who are often buried beneath the glitz and the glamour. And go do something amazing. You can do it.

HKV