by John R. Greenwood
I have never been up in an airplane. I am a 57 years old. I am not afraid. I simply have no place important enough to go where I need an airplane as a mode of transportation. I was returning from Bedlam Farm last Sunday and as I am prone to do when alone in my pickup on a sunny day, with over a half tank of gas; I take the road less traveled. I was leaving the village of Fort Edward headed west on Rt.#197. My steering wheel yanked hard to the left and suddenly I found myself on West River Road rumbling over a set of railroad tracks. On my left was a freshly mown field and a spec of blue was circling high above. There were a couple of cars with trunks open and two or three men with these brightly painted remote controlled airplanes. My wife was expecting me soon so I did not have much time to linger but I did ask if I could take a few pictures. The answer was,"Sure." I tried desperately to film some video. It was next to impossible to capture the planes in flight. What I did film would make you dizzy and want to kill me. I did grab a couple of simple pictures. I wanted to ask how much these planes cost? How were they powered? How did you get involved in this hobby? I didn't ask my questions but one thing was perfectly clear. There is something cativating about watching these planes in flight. It's relaxing to watch a choreographer control the dance of a plane as it twirls, soars, and loops around the tree lined edges of the plush green airfield. The sound of the small plane climbing, climbing, climbing higher and higher and then with the toggle of a toggle a giant bird of blue and white sails toward the earth, death just feet away and toggle back, throttle up, nose up, a brave bird flies off to the wooded edge and circles, happy to be alive!