Matt Michaels generally flies his Woodstock glider from Ames Iowa, although many of you know him from his flights made from, Stanton and Faribault. He got a nice article written about him in the Des Moines Register recently. It is copied below. Matt can be reached via email at ____________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________ Sky High By BOB MODERSOHN Register Staff Writer 06/19/2003 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- Glider pilot Matt Michael stays in the sky longer and flies higher than anyone in Iowa gliding history. Last year, he completed a 233-mile, nonstop flight from Ames to Fenton, Mo., that began his record-setting spree. On May 26, an epic flight took him from Ames to Creston to Denison and back to Ames in a single 400-kilometer flight over a triangular course. It took 7 hours and 50 minutes. The flight broke Michael's record the previous day for "distance to a predeclared goal." That 300-kilometer flight took him from Ames to Northwood and back to Ames. He reached an altitude of 11,200 feet above sea level. That was also a record in Iowa. The soaring conditions over Memorial Day weekend were outstanding, the pilot/music talent booking agent/tree surgeon said. "In 15 years, they'd never been better." All of Michael's records are pending certification by the Soaring Society of America. When the flights are finally confirmed, he may well have set some national records. "The awards and state records may sound grandiose," Michael said, "but the truth is that few have ever bothered to try long cross-country soaring flights in Iowa." At a compact 5-foot-8 and 150 pounds, the 40-year-old Ames man is only 19 pounds lighter than his plane. He has to shoehorn himself into the slender cockpit. [correction: Matt is 119 pounds lighter than his plane!] High-altitude Army surplus clothing and down booties (it's chilly at 11,000 feet) make him look like the Michelin Man, he admits. A radio is strapped to his right thigh. Aviator-style glasses make him a ringer for a young Scott Glenn (co-star of "Silence of the Lambs," "Urban Cowboy"). Gliders have no motor up front and are typically towed 2,000 feet up before they are released from the plane. The goal of a glider pilot is to locate and exploit warm columns of air (called thermals) beneath the clouds to reach soaring altitude. "Look for those chunky (cumulus) clouds with a dark bottom," Michael said. The stronger and more numerous thermals you find, the more lift and longer the flight. Dryness helps clouds Light wind is nice, too, and so is a little dryness, so the clouds don't form until they're high in the sky. "Iowa is a great place for soaring, especially in spring and fall when the crops are down. A cross-country soaring pilot can easily find a safe landing place in the event atmospheric conditions "let you down" and you can't make it to an airport." But if you screw up, Michael said, it can be curtains. Glider flying, in his opinion, is generally safer than other aerial endeavors. Nevertheless, accidents do happen. Last year, 29 glider accidents occurred in the United States, resulting in seven minor injuries, eight serious injuries and six deaths, according to the National Transportation Safety Board. So far in 2003, eight accidents have been reported, resulting in one minor injury. Based on accidents per 500,000 flights, the gliding community accounts for one accident per 14,500 flights, according to Gene Hammond at the Soaring Safety Foundation. That's comparable to general aviation figures. What's amazing about Michael's long flights is that his plane is "primitive and low-tech" by soaring standards. For years he'd wanted his own plane for cross-country flying, and one in Minnesota caught his eye. The haul home The builder assured him that "it handled beautifully, "thermaled" exceptionally well, and was robust enough to land-out (landing away from the airport on less than ideal surfaces) and haul home repeatedly." It had already logged 280 hours as proof. Michael bought it. "The Woodstock," as it's called, is not a high-performance glider. One of only about a dozen in existence, the relatively small plane was designed in the 1970s for private use. The mahogany and birch plywood framing with sealed Dacron skin makes it look more like a model plane than a real one. At 169 pounds empty, it reaches a total 458 pounds when loaded with pilot and gear. [correcton: the glider weighs 269 pounds empty] A bicycle-style hand brake stops the main landing wheel. A 3/8 -inch clear tube near the wheel vents out the cockpit - it's the bathroom during those long record-setting flights. Removable wings The wings and a canopy can be removed from the fuselage to store the glider inside an odd-looking trailer Michael pulls behind his '86 Ford six-banger truck. "I was afraid to touch it at first," Michael said of the plane. "It seemed so dainty and ethereal." His Woodstock was built over a six-year period by noted gliding instructor, author and lecturer Bob Wander of Minneapolis, Michael said. The plane is valued in the $5,000-$10,000 range, and Michael carries $1 million of insurance coverage for liability and collision. If the recognition he gains from setting new soaring records motivates people to challenge the wild blue yonder, he's happy. (His e-mail address reads "wbyonder") "It's an amazing reality sport," he said. Soaring calls upon mental and physical discipline. "Your body's out there moving through space, and the consequences are real," he said. Such as the times you're out of lift and you must land the plane. Right now. That was Michael's fear when he fell to 3,800 feet above the ground over Memorial Day, so close to a record flight, yet still 30 miles away from his goal, and no motor to pull him there. Speed of 40 mph Averaging 40 mph, the clouds - handy markers for thermals all day - became fewer and farther between, he recalled. It seemed that the thermals had disappeared. "By the time I got to Jefferson, (the clouds) were all gone." The sun was getting lower. His water had run out. He'd eaten his last energy bar. "At times like this, it seems that a soaring pilot's attitude has as much to do with staying aloft as the wings and air," he said. "I got low again over the Des Moines River west of Luther and was almost certain I was finished. The Boone airport was within easy reach, but I ignored it. "I was going to get as close to home as I could, even if it meant putting it down in the dirt." Then, three barely visible wisps of dust thousands of feet in the air showed him the way to more lift. "I continued to climb until I was 8,000 feet above ground, high enough to dive 90 mph over the remaining 10 miles to the airport - triumphant!" He hasn't always been so fortunate. For all his records for staying aloft, his forced landings are just as memorable. During a flight a year or two ago, what he thought was a cultivated farm field turned out to be a burnt prairie, a bit hairier to land on than he expected. Another time he was forced to land at Lake Mills in northern Iowa. "I took it easy - you pull out the phone and start calling," he said. His wife and daughter picked him up and took him home. He drove back the next day with the trailer and picked up the plane. Another time he had to land 15 miles south of Ames and hitchhiked home. He's says he's met nothing but interesting, friendly people. Waiting for a ride "I've whiled away a relaxing evening on the town square, hunted morel mushrooms, eaten at mom and pop cafes" while waiting for a ride home. His favorite "land-out" experience, though, was the time he was forced down at the Marshalltown airport. A guy with a Cessna 172 was getting ready for takeoff and he was heading west. He flew Michael right back to Ames. "It's the bond of airmen," the glider pilot said ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- Copyright (c) 2003, The Des Moines Register. JC Cunningham Soaring Sensations