by Les W Kuzyk
Chapter 14
Vince listened to Brad talk in the back seat of the Nissan as Aahil drove them past the warehouse. Their project supervisor would arrive next day, but for now Brad expanded on his survival cell plan. A guy had to have a worst case scenario, Brad told Vince, based on how people were reacting to climate change. You could say people were overwhelmed and mostly inactive. So there was a chance, an ever increasing chance they may not do what they really needed to. In the end Brad figured the trade-off really came down to giving up the lifestyle or struggling to hang on. Most people back home remained averse to giving up much, more typically into self-centredness. As they muddled along with their consumer lives, a long list of potential upsets seemed possible—political, economic, social—ending in some last ditch chaotic effort to survive. A lot of climate refugees could be looking for a new place. For not just his sons’ future, but his too, that scenario was not too appealing. So for his own peace of mind, keeping a background hope people would eventually all become friends or at least politically cooperative, he was strategically casting his dice.
“Brotherly love would be nice,” Brad said. “But kind of idealistic.”
“Yeah,” Vince agreed. “Not likely.”
“I see people as a bunch of goofballs,” Brad said. “And any goofy person learns as they go, right? That learning means making a lotta lousy choices to later say, oh yeah ha ha, I get it now.”
So while the goofiness goes on Brad believed best to have a place to get to where a guy could survive the fall out. The snow disappearing from the Sierras and the San Joaquin valley in California drying up had already pushed people into moving north. Still in an organized and peaceful way, though the Idaho locals were not overly welcoming. Say the next goofiness turned into a quick move. “Say they meet resistance, or say the military even gets involved.” Brad figured best to lay low for a while, until the big shift blew over. What he called the transition was going to happen one way or another.
They turned off at the street that led to the wadi and Aahil switched into four-wheel-drive as they drove out into the sand.
Best to get off the most likely northerly travel path—many would be thinking Alaska. “So I got this small but livable building. The land is actually a two acre piece of forest on a hill.” Think maximum efficiency, Brad said. Think what do you really need to live? Think as if this were some chaotic moment in the transition, or alternately, how you really could live on the planet if you wanted a one planet footprint. What do you really need? Solar panels, a water system catching rain off the roof, enough space cleared for a healthy garden. “You can’t see the cell from any road. You have to know the turnoff where you go up and over a little rise to even see the place.” Brad had imagined a wartime-like scenario with soldiers on the search. They’d have to be awful meticulous to find this hideaway. He could even cut trees down to block the road, further discouraging access or making the place look abandoned. He waffled over the thought of digging in an underground bunker—kind of extreme. Who wants neighbours in bunkers? Minus the bunker idea, you fade away into the forest while the soldiers snoop around. History says they don’t stay long.
Vince watched Brad’s eyes light up when he told of the first time he drove into that mountain valley, and looked up from the valley floor. The east side rose near vertical with rocky cliff patches exposed in a forest that climbed to almost cover the peaks. The valley spread out wide across intermittent farmland to a gentler sloping west side. When he stepped into the wind from one eastern peak to lift off, his first flight had been spectacular. Flying straight out towards the valley centre what caught his eye poking out from the grid of farmers’ fields had been the hills, old worn out mountains or the remains of the last glaciations he was later told. The little knolls were covered in remains of original forest, yet still had easy road access. Circling to take a closer look and even catching some lift above the dark soil fields, he was amazed at the huge trees at one hill bottom fading to grassland on the hilltop. What a place to lay low for a while if need be his thinking told him at the time.
Brad’s buddy met him at the prearranged pickup point, and they drove back up the forestry service road for his friend’s turn to fly. Later he drove those farmer roads, checking out the real estate signs. That had been back then—now he was a registered owner.
Vince nodded, absorbing his friend’s outlook. Aahil had discovered an alternate route along a side ridge, and drove them directly to the flat rocky outcrop this time. Dropping them off, he headed back down to their prearranged meeting point.
They left their backpacks on the stone platform, and walked up to the edge. Leaning into the breeze from the outcrop, Brad pointed out the warehouse roof. Brad’s look told Vince conditions were favourable and Brad showed him how to open the pack and roll out the wing.
“Hey Brad, you see that SUV,” Vince pointed. A dark vehicle had driven part way up the wadi along their path.
“Yeah, huh,” Brad shook his head. “They’re just parked there.”
“Would they be able to see us?”
“We see them, so...they’ll notice when we get our wings up.”
“Tourists?”
“Chinese engineers working on that third bridge—they got time off just like us,” Brad grinned. “Or Aahil talks about the president’s men.”
“I’d say Aahil can’t see them from where he is down there.”
“Yeah, I’d say not,” Brad said. “But from up here, we get to see it all.”
Clipped into his harness, Vince's eye followed the tangle of strings leading to his wing. The rag as Brad called the spider web cloth lay lengthwise before him where at its centre a half bubble of fabric stood erect in the blowing wind. “So just like I showed you, Vince,” Brad told him. “A nice little tug will pull the whole wing up in the air straight above you. So you'll be reverse flying. You can flight practise standing right there on the ground but the wing flies just as if you were up in the air. Then it's so easy to do a one eighty, but not yet, that’s next.”
Vince gave the upper edge strings a tug, and the bubble began lifting the wing off the rock. He released his pull and the wing fell back. He had control.
“Pretty good time at the horse tracks." Vince needed to talk. “We go on Aahil’s day off Friday, now we take our day off Sunday.”
“Those good-luck seats worked great." Brad walked his bundle of wing cloth spreading it wide across the cliff top. "But I was up pretty late Friday, and then got final reports together yesterday. See what big boss says tomorrow.”
"A hand shake and a ticket for home." Vince tugged his strings.
“I doubt it. I think they got a lot invested in this project." Brad dragged his strings back to his harness and clipped them on. "Aahil says the president's gonna want the balloon launch right by Niamey. For all to see.”
“We're pretty much running test stages so far,” Vince said.
“That’s what I told Aahil. This president’s got some kind of political agenda on the go. The guy sounds good when he floats a rumour the rains will be coming back to the Sahel and even to the desert. He looks good if he shows he’s doing something for his people and their lousy rice crops. Bring back the rain, bring back the Green Sahara.”
“How about we color the sulphur gas? We add copper sulphate and he's got green shooting stars—just in reverse—they shoot upwards. That’d give them a spectacle.”
“Right Vince, I dunno if that’s the show they’re looking for. Like Aahil says the Tuareg celebrate what they call the Wodaabe. That’s the Festival of the Nomads, and it happens when the rains’ finish.” Brad clipped himself into his harness. “That’s at Cure Salée up on the edge of the Sahara. Green pastures everywhere, president says, even better than they had a few decades ago so he keeps connecting to those Dabous Giraffes.”
“Giraffe politics,” Vince said.
“Those Dabous Giraffes rock carvings are up by the Sahara. So Aahil thinks the president wants a release up there. Aroun
d this place called Ingall. But if they catch it on Hologram video, that puts the president right there in the Sahara beside those stone giraffes reaching out to all of Niger.”
Brad caught Vince’s eye and pointed out past the outcrop edge.
“Zero effort. You just ride the air,” Brad said. “Should be some lift coming up this embankment. Remember, you pick a place to land but you have an alternative spot in your mind. Always. The breeze is strong enough so I’m gonna catch ridge lift for a bit. I fly back and forth a couple times and then land right back here.”
Vince listened like a fledgling.
“When we fly out there where there’s no ridge the idea is to find a thermal. You ride the rising air up, but never past ten thousand feet. Watch your altimeter. You dump the thermal by flying a straight line. If you want to go cross country you catch the next thermal further along.” Brad pulled his upper strings and his wing snapped into position above him. He pulled his goggles over his eyes. “The heat in this place says there’ll be thermals for sure. We’ll look for a darker colored patch on the ground, where the heat gets absorbed, and a thermal comes up.”
Brad spun around. Taking two steps right off the edge, he lifted into the wind. The paraglider rose aloft taking him up-up-up a few hundred meters above the cliff and he turned to follow along the edge. Vince dropped his strings and sat down in on the warm rock, arms wrapped around knees. This guy was telling him he can not only do as he was seeing done, but that he will be able to fly out across the plains, picking and choosing like a bird where to land.
His mind was so busy the need to find distraction lately was near gone. He’d been reading up on some of the infograms Jeri sent, like why, unlike birds, people poop in their own nest. Birds are smart, yet another infogram site challenged the intelligence against lemmings. Over the cliff without a wing or a second thought. Or even people compared to their own ancestors. How can we allow ourselves to repeat Easter Island? Or the Mayan civilization. To trash our whole natural support systems…take the Sumerians. Where once Sumerian irrigated agriculture flourished there now was nothing but desert.
He watched Brad soar.
The guy has such enthusiasm for flying. Triggered by a childhood movie experience—he would mimic that Mad Maks pilot instruction ‘now you gotta understand the basics of aerodynamics’. That aerodynamics caught kid Brad’s mind. Knowing it had to do with flying, he researched the word right off. Inspired by the gyrocopter hero arriving by air to the rescue—kids notice that. Or rising to safety—Brad’s hidden valley was a safe place—above the Max truck down on the road. Vince felt inspired by his dance floor time in Montreal, that another cultural model was possible, but the rest of his life got in the way.
Vince squeezed his brake handle as he watched Brad pull a brake line on one side. He leaned the direction of Brad’s wing, and saw Brad hold the turn until he had spun ninety degrees. He waved down and Vince raised a hand back.
Getting to his feet Vince took a deep breath. He pulled that launch bubble up for the breeze to catch, and pulling both lines of strings, he stepped backwards a couple paces. His wing rose above him and he braced against the harness pull. As the paraglider lifted into place directly above, he could feel it balance and fly on its own, just as Brad had said. The upward pull lifted his feet as the wind strengthened and he skidded over the rock. He yanked the bottom strings and the wing deflated—he still had control. But ready to step off?
Brad glided back out of the sky, touching lightly onto the flat outcrop and deflating his wing. His face held a spectre of wonder.
“Edge of space?” Vince looked at him.
“Oh no,” Brad said. “Cloud base is a lot higher than you get soaring a ridge.”
“I wonder what the carbon footprint would come to for space travel,” Vince said.
“Yeah, interesting question.” Brad popped out of his harness. “Wasn’t in that spreadsheet so I had to extrapolate. That Jackie and Haydon carry a whopper if you include travel over a life time. They might get services remote, but groceries and hardware come delivered to Mars. You do not want to know the carbon cost.”
Vince stared. “They finance through crowdsourcing now.”
“Yes. And they are well financed. You know the rumours, but I’d call it true. I mean is Jackie a good looking woman or what? How much influence did popularity have on audience vote for their team? Then everyone followed the mating contest, how she picked Haydon. Mission Mars knew how long people followed Apollo and the moon missions. Strategically stage a crew competition to keep world eyes on Mars. Who’s gonna be following any research on ancient hydrological cycles. All eyes will be on Jackie and Haydon.”
“My wife could never tell you Mars is fourth planet from the sun,” Vince said. “But she knows what Jackie wears.”
“So that’s what people do. They follow the Martian soap opera. As our planet goes to shit,” Brad said. “I gotta keep that survival cell in my hip pocket, Vince. Take my boys out there. Get them used to the place, so they know how to live a different way.”
“Carbon footprint—like driving an SUV equates to driving down grandchildren.”
“That’s a harsh thought.”
Vince stood on the outcrop edge beside Brad, their wings inflated.
“Okay, you ready?” Brad asked.
Vince nodded nervously.
“Follow me.”
Brad lifted off again. He caught the rising cliff face air to go up and then struck out straight away from the outcrop. As Vince took his first step off the cliff he felt his foot’s last touch before totally lifting off. Watching the ground recede below, he instinctively searched for a known and did notice the dark SUV gone. No balloon basket around him, but Brad told him, many more flight options. Hanging his hands from the brake handles like Brad he flew after his friend who was already circling in a thermal and on his way up further. Vince followed.
When Vince looked down the exposure brought on terror but the view ecstasy. The mix turned to an amazing calm. So this was cloud base, though not a wisp of white in any direction. He couldn’t keep the widening grin off his face, no matter how it hurt. This was angel country. Closer to the edge of space where astronauts have their epiphany, Brad said, with their view of the planet below. If not rising to some higher plane of consciousness, he was sure catching a moment of elation.