Dreams of flight

A flight memory with friend Bob Cano who recently died in a car accident.

A kaleidoscope of iridescent light stretched out like a carpet of radiant orange and red hues. From horizon to horizon, the mackerel sky appeared alien and otherworldly. This moment would be forever burned into my memory.

Since early afternoon, Bob and I had been flying, and by six o'clock we had both logged several hours of flight time with multiple top landings. Just west of Palmdale California, Saniquin Mountain was a site we rarely flew. Mainly because of the rugged four wheel drive road to the top. Long ago the top of the mountain was once home to a government weather station, now obviously debunked. The road had probably not been maintained for several decades. The drive up was one of many white knuckle off road adventures associated with the pursuit of flying hang gliders. Our ride to the top - a vintage F-J40 Land Cruiser.

The 1975 Toyota Land Cruiser was one of my passions and a definite work in progress. Always in need of some type of serious work, it seems it always had some form of brake related issues. In the late summer of 1989 I purchased "Mr. Cruiser" in Reno Nevada, close to the end of a flying trip with the Steve Nootenboom and family. Steve and his wife Tanya lived in the Mojave Desert near the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains. They lived in a house truck Steve built himself on the bed of an early 50's tractor-trailer truck. The house truck included Solar panels, a self-contained water system and ornate woodwork that reflected a Victorian style. Steve's Land Cruiser and subsequent ride on our trip, was quite the work. He had invested thousands of dollars and untold hours of work restoring his prize. It was this sea foam green four-wheel drive beast that started the Land Cruiser obsession with me.

Mr. Cruiser was a rusted out, 70's goldenrod colored heap that would over the years, require to much time,money and attention. Needless to say, it was no less notorious on the way up to Saniquine. At one point along the treacherous climb, I glanced over at Bob noticing his hand firmly clutching the door handle. Ready to jump at the first sign of trouble.

Generally, flying Saniquine is best in the late afternoon. After a long hot summer day , the heated valley floor can produce a wonder wind, a phenomenon typically associated with consistently soarable, velvety smooth air. An air junkie’s prize. That evening, after a grueling hour ride to the top, we were rewarded with one of the most satisfying series of flights in our aviation careers. Back and forth like soaring birds, we cruised effortlessly a hundred and fifty to three hundred feet above the ridge top in the dreamiest air you could imagine. And it was all you want. The lift was so consistent, we only came down for a momentary break, a soda out of the ice chest, or just to confirm that we were experiencing reality - not dreaming.