Hey All, just want thank every one for all the great info............but that SacramentoMike, best advise ever. Must get his water from the river. 2fjr asked why I want to "fly". Well I have no deep philosophical reasons, no Icarus complex, just something I've always wanted. Would even consider Gliders, but the Coastal Plains of South Texas aren't to conducive to gliders, would have to travel to the San Antonio Hiil country area, but still something to consider. Flying is along the lines of Bike/ bicycle riding, there just seems to be an undefinable sense for freedom that comes with riding. And of course there is the techical challenge. I've always bragged that "just show me where the key goes and can drive the damn thing" As a matter of fact back in the mid 80's I bought my first moto never having driven one in my life. What the hell I figured, can't be any different than riding a bicycle, just its got a motor, wacthed them do it all the time on ESPN.
At the time I was single and a very serious Cyclist (logged 200-250 miles/wk on average). Well one spring day I rode out to my barber's to get my hair cut when in conversation he mentioned that he was thinking of selling his Bike, a 79 Yamaha 750 Triple. I told him that I was looking for a Bike, asked how much and he said "I'll let it go for a $800.00". Wow, I just got my tax refund back, let me check it out. When we were done we out to the parking lot and looked over the bike. It was clean, very clean, with lots of good crome. I told him I'd buy it, " I'll come back tomorrow with the cash and settle up". Being that we had known each other for the past 6 years he said that if I wanted I could just ride it home. "Sure" he said, "take it home, come back tomorrow with the cash and I'll give you the Pink slip, I'll put your bicycle in the shop store room". "Well shit OK" I said so I climbed on (that's right in spandex riding shorts and cleated shoes) and sat there looking over the controls. With the bike running and my left hand on the clutch I said " Its been a while, front break" right?
"No" he said with a puzzled look, "clutch"
"That's right, that's right it's just been a while". With my right foot tapping the rear break, "shifter, 1 up 4 down" I said with authortiy.
"Rear break, left side shifter and it's 1 down with 5 up" he said with a look of genuine concern.
"That's right, that's right" before he said another word I pulled on the clutch, slammed it into 1st, gave it a little throttle, eased out the clutch and slowly rode off hoping to hell I didn't stall it. I took the back way home along the Santa Barbara foot hills (that's right SacramentoMike, the beautiful Santa Barbara foothills, no river bottom swamp lands) in an attempt to make as few complete stops as possible. I rode the whole way slow and easy, grinning ear to ear in part cause I did look like a damn fool riding that thing in full cycling apparel. Made it home safe and sound.
The next day when I went to settle up with my barber and pick up my bicycle he asked me how long I'd been riding. I avoided answering him until I got the pink slip in my hand. He asked one more time, how long have you been riding? Without skipping a beat I looked him in the eye and said well, what time is it?
"Son of a bitch" he said, "when I watched you ride off I started to get a bad feeling, promise me you'll take it easy and not kill yourself"
I promised him I would go easy and most of all "not kill myself". Rode home that day on my bicycle. True Story.