Valentine's Day was a special day in the Hang Gliding and Paragliding community. It was a day where some pilots flew and others blew, chunks that is, Little John style; the daily orange whip ­ two parts fresh oranges and plenty of alcohol from the night before - sprinkled judiciously but conscientiously fifty feet from launch.
     Hammer was hammered, literally, EJ-induced or so he said, and was a no show. Simon, who was at the same party the night before, showed up ­ still impaired with one burned shoe, the result of a passionate desire to burn something.
     Tom Truax gave new meaning to the term RC Radio Control as he cored his new student into the side of the mountain. It reminded me of those little army men with parachutes you played with as a boy ­ you tossed them into the air and sometimes they flew, and sometimes they didn't. Ah heck, he's ok, a little bruised, scratched and shaken, but he'll be all right… "Now here is how you do it: what do you mean where is my helmet? We don't need no stinking helmets…"
     Tony, the frustrated underling rookie was once again shut down at the Alternator but at least he didn't accidentally take Jim Maddox' bag home with him, or loose anyone else's car keys…
     Batman swept Skippy off her feet and off the mountain. The day was good, the chick was hot, but the cycle was not… They got flushed in a 10­minute downward spiraling flight that made him tap his vario wondering if the UP­Audio was working!
     On the good side, a lot of pilots had good flights and it didn't rain. So, as Simon says, "it was better than a sharp stick in the eye…"