Life is a Runway

Notes from the author: Hi again everyone. To my own surprise, I managed to squeeze a little extra idea from my youthful memories for a story. It's a Lady and the Tramp type of romance with a glider championship in the background. Fair warning to all: this story has A LOT of background material... I hope it's not too much and that you will all still enjoy your reading.

1.- The take-off

"I will never get used to just how low they come in final." Samuel was speaking to a silent partner and volunteer, watching a magnificent glider about to land. Not only was this brand new JS-1C 18 EVO competition glider an awesome sight in its own right, but the peace and majesty of its approach, with its 18 meters carbon fiber wings curved upwards and seemingly wrapping the mid-May setting sun at Terlet airfield, made for a sublime spectacle.

In fact, despite he was his only audience, Samuel could not stop commenting the approach. "Come on, now... you're a little fast... open your flaps. Goood! Adjust your slope... pull up a little... do you dare more flaps? No? Too bad... but we'll still run after you, don't worry. Come in nicely... about to say hel..." then stunned silence. This time, his amused silent partner turned to see his frozen stare, already knowing its cause.

As the glider started its flare up and passed by him, Samuel got a look, for the first time, at the angelic face in the cockpit. A sight of pure female grace and pale unblemished softness, focused dead ahead behind her sunglasses. A figure of awe-inspiring poise with the hint of perfectly flaxen blonde hair neatly tucked under a sky blue visor. It took the holler of his partner, in an English marred by a strong natural Dutch accent, to snap Samuel back to reality and now both of them ran leisurely after their quarry, which had made contact in the infield about 200 meters in front of them.

Samuel was slowing down as he reached the landed glider. It was already agreed that he would push at the wing root. But he realized, quite suddenly, just how nervous he had become, due to both the leading edge glider and its pilot.

The glider was an amazing design, all white and wasp-thin behind the cockpit, right up to the T-tail, with sleek wings that seemed to extend to an unnatural length and that were tapered by small upward winglets, just like the new airliners. He noted the registration number - PH-1762 - and knew, since it had numbers and was not all letters, that it was a pure glider with no sustainer motor. Good. Coming in closer, in addition to the forest green high visibility markings on the nose and wings, Samuel could now see the personalized touches. The glider was nicknamed Senna and, under the canopy hood, he read the name Fay Aarden, alongside a small Royal Dutch Shell logo and over the GeZC glider club logo and full Dutch name, De Gelderse Zweefvliegclub.

Now Samuel could concentrate on his second sight of awe-induced stupor, as Fay was extracting herself from the opened cockpit. By now, Samuel had simply chosen to be nonchalant to sidestep his own trepidation. It would, of course, not be impossible that a supermodel would like to fly... that being the case, such a person could certainly afford a glider that costs more than what he will ever spend on his future house and to fly it dressed, from visor to footwear, in top-of-the-line Milvus and Flieschen flying gear. Once out of the cockpit, Fay removed and stored her Ray-ban polarized sunglasses, revealing eyes of intense royal blue in the process.

"Good evening, Miss Aarden. Is this a good place to push her?" Samuel was proud of his newfound Zen. He drew it from the very evident fact that Fay is so unfathomably out of his league that he could basically do no wrong.

Fay seemed to expend the minimal energy required to examine his proposed handhold before replying. "Yes, thank you." It was sad that such a divine-looking throat would only produce such a flat, mechanical voice, but, once again, Samuel figured that its full potential for warmth and affection is not meant for him, so he made no case of it. Her English intonation, however, was impeccable and devoid of accent.

"Are we heading to the tie-downs or disassembling her this evening?" Samuel had started to push while Fay was holding the wingtip and the other club volunteer held the tail section.

"Tie-downs will do. I will be flying again tomorrow and the weather should not pick up." Already, Samuel felt some more humanity in the voice. That gave him courage to carry on the task he had set his heart on.

"Very well, to the tie-downs we go. By the way, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Aarden; my name is Samuel Adams, but you can call me Sam if you wish... all my friends do. You don't know me, of course, but... huh... I was your tow-pilot today and... could I ask you a favor, for your future flights?"

This picked up her interest. She turned to gaze at him and, despite the distance between them, Samuel inwardly felt he was pierced by two helium-cadmium lasers of pure blue. "You are the new club pilot flying the L-19?"

Samuel gave it his all not to laugh. Her expression was a carbon copy of Princess Leia seeing the Millenium Falcon for the first time. "Indeed, and very happy to be... she's a joy to handle... well, obviously nothing like your Senna, of course, but a joy in the rugged, unsophisticated sense all the same."

No, Fay could still not equate this. "YOU... are flying Betrouwbaar?"

Now she was patronizing; and he knew it. "Yea, Yea... ha ha ha... I know the aircraft has literally twice my age and still looks like it just returned from Vietnam, but the club takes really great care of it and it just belies all its flying hours. Anyway, since we're on the subject, I figure the namesake was chosen to match its PH-BTB registration letters, but could you please tell me what Betrouwbaar means?"

"You do not speak Dutch, then..."

"No, sorry... visiting expatriate."

"Ah... it means Dependable."

"Then she's very aptly named." Samuel could discern the beginning of an intent of a potential smile. She was still gazing at him but he had to focus to the task at hand, as they had arrived to the tie-down.

"Where are you from, Samuel?"

"Kedgwick, New-Brunswick... it's in Canada."

"That explains your accent."

"Yes, well... my part of the country was once in Acadia. But, you know, my Acadian accent is really nothing compared to some, especially those near Moncton who can still speak Chiac..." he briefly paused to look longingly at the dazzling pilot. Nope. The hope of a smile was gone: Fay looked bored, as she watched Samuel tie Senna down and place additional spoiler boards on its wings.

"What favor did you want to ask of me, Samuel?"

"Ho! I was forgetting about that, sorry! I guess I'm rambling around you!" She did not deny it nor attempted to correct him. "So, huh... I noticed that on your tow, you basically just released behind me. It would be better for both our planes if, before releasing, you climbed a little behind my tail, then dived back behind me... that way, your extra speed will slacken the tow cable and it makes for a smooth release; no stress on your hookups; no jar for me in front. That's it."

The intensity of her gaze blazed to Death Star level. Samuel even heard a grumble of disapproval from his so-far silent partner. Samuel chided himself for thinking that a supermodel, probably expecting to be worshipped on a daily basis, would gladly accept a flying tip... in the Netherlands of all places.

"Hoooo... and just where did you garner this gem of wisdom, Samuel, Canada?"

"Actually... yes, Miss, we taught this regularly at... aaahh, never mind. Just forget it."

"No, no... finish your argument, Samuel... please don't be shy on my account." At least, her voice was still flat and without anger.

"It's standard procedure at Air cadets glider school. I taught there, once, in Nova-Scotia."

"YOU! Are a glider instructor?" She was disbelieving; he was now embarrassed.

"Well... nothing like your JS-1! In fact, I've never even set foot in a carbon fiber glider. But... yes... if you count the Schweiser 2-33 as a glider, I have a couple of hundred hours, an instructor rating that's picking up dust and a tad over a thousand flights."

"A thousand flights!?! Don't you ever stay airborne in Canada?"

"Alas... it's pretty much all instruction and familiarization flights, transits or flight tests. I've only given a real shot at soaring once or twice."

"I see... that is a shame. In any case, thank you for your advice. Now, is something else wrong, Samuel? You keep staring at Senna." They had finished tying the glider down and Fay had walked near Samuel; both were now inspecting the wings.

"You tell me, Miss Aarden..."

"Fay..."

"Thank you. You tell me, Fay, I almost feel bad leaving these boards, even though they're padded. Are you sure the spar on those slender wings can take it?"

For the first time, Fay harbored a faint smile of tenderness. "She does look fragile, doesn't she? Don't worry, Sam: in her wing ballasts, Senna can store in water ten times the weight of these planks, at least."

"I forget... I mean, even though from afar your Senna looks like a plastic toy, I realized while pushing her that she was just as heavy as the 2-33s we used to push and tie-down, just like this. All right, then... I've taken enough of your time. It was a pleasure meeting you, Fay... have a nice evening and please be careful on the roads."

"Likewise, Sam... and just where are you going now?"

"To tend to Betrouwbaar. She has a heart of gold, but she tends to be a high-maintenance mistress. After that, it's a nap in the bus and back to bed in The Hague."

Fay nodded in silence and they parted ways.

2. - The release

"Gek! Idioot!"

"Will you stop it, Nigel? I only offered to help her and her glider."

"The Aardens don't need anyone's help... the father is big shot at Shell and I would not be surprised if he owned the club. If you know what's good for you, just let them be!"

"Ok ok..." Samuel just as soon dismissed the warning and focused on wiping clean Betrouwbaar's windshield and propeller. As a point of fact, the tow-plane was indeed more than twice Samuel's age and did look like it just landed from Da Nang or Hoi An, flying since 1958 and still painted in its military color scheme of olive drab with orange recognition stripes and a black nose panel - only the US Army markings were scraped off and painted over in yellow-green, with the plane's Dutch namesake and registration. The wing hardpoints had not even been removed! But, as old and craggy as it looked, the L-19 was sparkling clean and ready for another day of work tomorrow... hopefully towing Fay.

Samuel was yanked out of his reverie by the PA system. "Samuel Adams, please go see Onno in his office." Samuel raised an eyebrow and walked away, under the satisfied scowl of Nigel who seemed to expect nothing less than his expulsion from the country as punishment for his hubris. He picked up his duffel bag on the way.

He softly knocked on the door before letting himself in... only to realize that Fay was sitting opposite the club's flight manager. Samuel straightened himself and now took heed of Nigel's warning. He barely managed to keep an unperturbed tone. "Hey Onno, what's up? Log book confirmation?"

"As a matter of fact, Sam, yes... please hand me your logbooks." Samuel blindly searched in his duffel bag, his eyes locked on Fay, and handed over his current logbook. "All your logbooks, please." This was getting weird but, fortunately, Samuel almost never moved about without his logbooks, unless he expected to be unfit to fly. He handed them all over; Onno gave the older ones to Fay for cursory inspection while he stamped today's flight time in his current one.

Fay remained completely blank and emotionless while perusing over all the entries. She then closed them all, handed them back to the supervisor and spoke quickly and softly in Dutch. Onno then spoke in a soft, cautious tone.

"Sam, I know you had planned a trip to France soon, so I figure your passport and travel papers are all in order?"

"Yes... what's this about, Onno?"

"Miss Aarden is part of our National team for the upcoming Women's world gliding championships, in Czechia. She has just asked me to lend your services as a team tow-pilot for the event."

(Oh my gosh!)

"Me.. and Betrouwbaar?" Onno nodded in assent. "When?"

It was Fay that answered. In the same flat, mechanical voice. "We would be abroad from May 16th to June 4th. What do you say?"

That would ruin his trip and the pain must have shown on his face, because Onno frowned in protest. "I... would saaay... that I am honored for the distinction... and... I would beee... proud to represent the club and assist the Netherlands at the world stage; I just hope a foreign tow-pilot is allowed." He was now thinking himself quite clever.

"That is a valid observation. Very well, I will obtain the answer to that query and let you know tomorrow." She left the office without another word.

"Good night, Fay!" Not a single fluctuation in her demeanor as she walked away. Samuel returned his attention to Onno, who looked like someone who had just defused a bomb.

"Thank you Sam, I owe you one...and I am sorry about your trip; I understand what it must have represented for you."

"Don't mention it Onno... really... for a while there, I thought you were about to fire me; Nigel certainly thought so too!" Both of them chuckled.

"To tell you the truth, Sam, the thought HAD crossed my mind!" He snickered while returning Samuel his logbooks. "See you tomorrow?"

Their banter was interrupted by the deafening roar of an engine followed by the exact audio simulation of what would be a single-car Formula 1 race start. Samuel had to repress an instinctive reflex to cover his ears.

"See you tomorrow, Onno."

---

It was an uneventful morning at work, so Samuel was care-free when he stepped out of Onno's car - he always got a lift from the bus stop to the airfield when the club was anxious to have the L-19 in the air - and greeted his secondary office for the afternoon. While he was taxiing to the infield, his heart skipped a beat when he saw that his first tow of the day was a familiar glider with a familiar angelic figure impatiently waiting in the cockpit for her ride to the cumulus-filled skies.

The signalman motioned for a two thousand feet tow and from there it was all routine: wing up... take up slack... all out; and as long as he would hear the old engine express - loudly - the freedom of its unleashed 213 horsepowers, Samuel felt he would remain as ageless as his mount.

It was an amazing sky for gliding and Samuel was sure he would not see Fay until sundown is she so wished. And, just as his altimeter reached the 2 000 ft. mark, his heart melted in his seat: he felt a familiar upward pull on his tail and, when he looked behind him through his all-around canopy - the L-19 Bird Dog was originally designed as an artillery spotter, amongst other uses - he saw Senna gently diving, releasing and breaking right. He remained lost in thought for a couple of seconds, just marveling at the glider, before chopping the throttle, breaking left and fully lowering Betrouwbaar's flaps for his descent.

From 3h00 to 6h00 PM, Betrouwbaar was the only tow-plane in service and was quite busy. All the better. When another volunteer was available with the club's other tow-plane, a Rallye 180, Samuel was radioed to land and he was quite surprised, when he was taxiing back to the hangar, to see Fay disassembling Senna so early. While he locked up "his" L-19, Samuel was startled by an oncoming orange-and-black Porsche that looked like a modified 911 with air intakes. He was not surprised to see Fay behind the lowered door window and to hear her summon him inside the car. It never even occurred to Samuel to not comply!

"We have a team meeting at my place, in the Hague." As Samuel was pressed in his seat by forward acceleration, he figured that would be extent of the explanation offered. So loud was the engine, he almost wished he had brought along his headset.

They were entering the A12 when Samuel dared speak. "At what time is the team meeting?"

"7h30 PM."

"Do you want me to call ahead to signal we will be a tad late?" With no forthcoming answer, Samuel noticed that Fay had reached the highway speed limit of 130 km/h on the car's second gear... and now, she was shifting up.

Samuel felt his face paling by the second. "I wasn't aware that the 130 km/h limit was a recommendation, like in Germany!" Fay sneered and pointed to the glove box, inside of which Samuel found a sedimenting pile of speeding tickets. "Oh..." and now he knew, considering the 124 km commute, that they would be on schedule and with time to spare... even if they were pulled over more than once.

"So, huh... what model of Porsche is this, exactly?"

"This is a Porsche 959."

"Never heard of it until now... what IS under the hood?"

"A bi-turbo all-wheel-drive something... look, it's an old design that I bought second-hand; all I know is that, at the time of its manufacture, it was the fastest touring vehicle available." By now, the rest of the highway seemed on a Sunday leisure stroll.

"Why am I not surprised?" That brought a smile to her face; her first, real, heartfelt, smile, since they met yesterday. Now Samuel knew what being welcomed to Heaven will look and feel like.

"As you have probably figured out, you can be on the team. What will you tell your relatives?"

"I'm afraid I don't follow you, Fay."

"For your canceled trip. Will they be slighted? Should we offer compensation?"

"Haaa! You're mistaken... my trip was not to meet relatives, but veterans. And I already told them about this new development, after I checked the FAI gliding statutes yesterday. It's all clear on that front. Plus, I also amended my leave time at work. For better or worse, I'm doing this!"

"My, my! Aren't we resourceful! But why would you meet veterans in France?"

"I wanted to represent my deceased grandfather at the D-Day celebrations this year. It's my main reason for being here, in fact." That wiped the smile right out of her face. Fay now looked forlorn.

"I am truly very sorry, Sam. But, if that is the case, why would you spend your time in the Netherlands instead of France?"

"My grandfather was a water rat. That's the nickname for..."

"I know what water rat means, Sam... in this country, only a clinical moron would not. In which unit did he serve?" Her voice had quivered.

"Private Jacob Adams was in the North Shore (New-Brunswick) Regiment, 3rd Infantry Division, 1rst Canadian Army. He was a replacement for the losses incurred in the Normandy Campaign. According to his diary, he was still 18 when he served in operation Switchback."

"He was in the Scheldt, then?" By now, she seemed so captivated that Gabriel wished she would focus more on the road.

"Yes. He landed in the Breskens pocket after the initial thrust and advanced westward in the flooded polders, towards Oostburg and Sluis. After Switchback, the regiment then made an about-face eastward, towards the Maas river and Geertruidenberg. He stayed in the Netherlands pretty much until it was time to advance on the Rhine, in February 1945, and after that the Regiment returned here to fight, in April: it liberated Zutphen house by house. He wrote in his war diary that the horror of the starving people shook his soul just as much as the snipers, the mud, the rain, the cold and the mines; he also wrote that the carpet-bombed medieval cities were a sickening sight of chaos and barbarism."

She had moist eyes. He was sure of it. "Then do know that it is quite possible that your grandfather unknowingly met mine. For what that man did, you will always have my gratitude. I mean that, Sam." How can a person change so much in less than ten minutes, Samuel will never understand; but he was overwhelmed by this unexpected kindness.