Wind

May 26th, 2008

Tags: Blog

Let me tell you a story.

My parents were huge believers in the roadtrip. Whether this is a cultural phenomenon or not isn’t important: What’s important is that pretty much every summer ever since I was a toddler we’d drive somewhere for a substantial amount of time. Greece, Denmark, Yugoslavia, Italy, Spain, Switzerland, you name it. This tradition continued on well after we’d moved to the United States, including pretty much anything within easy driving distance of Texas.

Now, when you’re a parent, you try to encourage your childrens’ curiosity to see which way their enthusiasm will take them- it’s not a matter of molding them into a particular set of standards (aka Teaching Them Good And Wholesome Values (TM)), it’s more about letting them find their own path, and most of the time… well, it’s a bit of a crapshoot, and you never know whether this new pursuit of theirs is going to be a flighty fancy or a serious pursuit. In addition to that my own ADD tendencies could not have made that much easier. Fixating on a particular task was easy for me, but finding something I’d be willing to fixate on for more than a week or so wasn’t about to happen. Name it, I’ve probably explored it, and my mom and dad’s support in every flighty fancy is… well, I can’t really thank them enough for it.

The additional difficulties with this kind of kid (that being myself) is that sometimes the really significant hobbies and pursuits are difficult to pick out from the noise. There are simply too many hobbies, unfinished projects and pursuits to figure out which one really took hold, and it’s not until I myself have gained the ability to retrospect properly that I myself can pick them out.

The actual point of all that commentary? I like kites.

One of the first trips we took after moving to Texas was to Corpus Christi, where my parents bought me a cheap little stunt kite. It was… an experience hard to describe. See, we kept it in storage (or rather, pinned to the ceiling in my room) for most of the year, and only when the opportunity arose did it get pulled out of retirement. In particular, there was one beach trip to Port Arthur where I spent so much time flying the kite that my back ended up with second degree burns.

I flew this kite ragged. The trailing edge started to fray, I had to duct-tape the cross brace, and the line had to be mended multiple times, but even so it was probably the best $40 they ever spent for me. I took it to college with me, but there wasn’t much opportunity in Pittsburgh to fly it. Soon enough it got lost in a move somewhere, and I haven’t really thought of it much since, until I went on vacation last year.

The event I’m currently at happens every year, essentially in the same place, and one of the featured stores in the area is Kitty Hawk Kites, a store that… well, sells kites. Last year I walked out of that place with a .7 m^2 stackable stunt delta that was my best friend for the next week (I did wear sunscreen this time though). Nimble, maneuverable, quick on the turn and beautifully responsive: hmmmmhhhh yeah.

So what did I forget to pack this year? Exactly. After a few short minutes of bellyaching over this gross insult to her I acquired a new one, a 2.5m^2 foil (Mom, Dad? Guess where the birthday check went. Thanks! ). In comparison to my delta it’s like switching from a scooter to a harley: It ceases to be an exercise of pure finesse and becomes a study of power, cantilevering and balance control. This kite requires quite a bit of physical cantilevering to prevent it from pulling me off my feet, and during my first practice flight I faceplanted in the sand a few times because I underestimated its power.

What’s even worse? This new kite has stacking mounts.

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