Here's a little story that serves, not only to entertain and educate, but to
illustrate how Artificial Intelligence can assist a budding author in
creative writing.

I would very much like to hear your thoughts, not only about the flight, but
also about which version of the story you preferred and why.

Larry Dighera
LDighera@att.net

[Posted to red.aviation.stories]

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A Day In The Life Of A New Glider Pilot

The metrological knowledge that glider pilots learn is invaluable, not only
for soaring, but for a more comprehensive understanding of the dynamics of
the atmosphere.

After having received my FAA Airmans Private Glider Certificate in the early
'70s, I had earned a Soaring Society of America 'C' Badge for remaining
aloft for over five hours without an engine. This had bolstered my
confidence considerably, and exploring the envelope of possibilities
locally, I chose to embark on a cross county flight. This is not to be
taken lightly when piloting an aircraft without an engine.

It was a warm summer's day; soaring conditions were good with lift to
10,000'. From that lofty perch, I could see "smoke" rising in the distance
to the east. Having become accustomed to the local area around the airport
at which I received my glider training, El Mirage, located in the Antelope
Valley of the Mojave Desert in southern California, I sought something a
little more adventurous. I had read of pilots using the rising hot air from
fires for soaring, and thought to myself, that if I found that there was
little lift in that area, the apparent smoke might allow me to regain enough
altitude to make the flight back to my home field. So, I struck out
directly for the rising plume in the distance losing altitude all the way.

Of course the glider lacked an electrical system, and thus I had no means of
establishing radio contact with Air Traffic Control, or anyone else. I
passed over George Air Force Base just above the a minimum legal altitude,
and continued toward the belching smoke stacks.

Upon arrival at the destination, I found a cement operation spewing dust,
not smoke, high into the surrounding atmosphere. My altitude was marginally
low, and my heart was in my throat at the prospect of landing in the
inhospitable barren desert. So, I immediately turned 180 degrees, and
headed back home, all the while continuing to trade my altitude for progress
forward on course. There hadn't been any lift for many miles, and now
George AFB lay in front of me. I knew a landing at a military facility
without prior permission was a significant violation, but it seemed far
preferable to potentially damaging the glider in an off-airport landing. So,
I continued over top the military airport, quite low now. I kept an eye on
the control toward to spy any signal light they may flash my way; nothing.
I was down to about 600' AGL now, and considering an approach for landing,
when out of nowhere a flight of two F-111 fighter aircraft appeared beneath
me as the landed at the military airfield. That was more than a little
unnerving. Suddenly, the Vertical Speed Indicator needle floated slightly
above zero. In the nick of time, the landing aircraft must have broken
loose a bubble of hot air off the black asphalt runway, and it was
sustaining me, but only barely. Feeling very guilty of violating military
airspace, I chose to continue thermaling in the rising air, making several
circles until I found the courage to depart on-course back to my home
airport.

As I progressed homeward, lift conditions began to improve, thankfully. I
kept this incident to myself, fearing that I'd likely receive a violation
letter from the FAA or worse the US Army, but never heard anything about it.
Too embarrassed to related this story of my stupidity and "lawlessness," I
kept quiet for decades. Now an octogenarian, I feel safe in revealing my
blunder in the hope that you find it interesting, and informative.
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Rewrite by ChatGPT: https://chat.openai.com/

"A Thrilling Cross-Country Glide

In the thrilling world of glider piloting, meteorological knowledge isn't
just a tool; it's the key to unlocking the skies. Back in the early '70s,
after earning my FAA Airmans Private Glider Certificate and boasting a
Soaring Society of America 'C' Badge for a jaw-dropping five-hour engineless
flight, I was itching for a new challenge. It was time to push the envelope
of possibilities.

One scorching summer day, the soaring conditions were perfect, with thermals
reaching a staggering 10,000 feet. From this lofty vantage point, I spotted
something intriguing on the horizon: a column of what appeared to be smoke
rising to the east. This wasn't just any day, and I wasn't looking for an
ordinary adventure. I had heard tales of daring pilots using the updrafts
created by fires for epic soaring experiences. And so, with unwavering
determination, I set out on a cross-country journey, fully aware of the
gravity of piloting an engineless aircraft.

As I headed towards the mysterious plume, I descended steadily, losing
altitude with every passing mile. Radio communication was a luxury I didn't
have, thanks to the glider's lack of an electrical system. I skimmed just
above the minimum legal altitude over George Air Force Base, a daring move
by any standard. My destination was drawing nearer, and my heart raced at
the thought of landing in the unforgiving desert terrain.

Upon arrival, I was met not by smoke but by the billowing dust from a cement
operation. My altitude was dangerously low, and panic began to set in. With
a quick 180-degree turn, I aimed for home, exchanging altitude for precious
forward progress. Miles passed without a hint of lift, and now George AFB
lay directly ahead. Landing there without prior authorization was a grave
violation, but it seemed a better choice than risking my glider in a rough
desert landing.

As I glided over the military base, my altitude dwindled to a mere 600 feet
above ground level. I scanned the control tower, desperately searching for
any signal light or communication, but there was nothing. Just as I was
contemplating an emergency landing, a miracle happened. Out of nowhere, two
F-111 fighter jets emerged beneath me as they touched down on the military
runway. The sight was unnerving, to say the least.

Suddenly, my Vertical Speed Indicator needle ticked slightly above zero.
Just in the nick of time, the landing jets had disrupted the air, releasing
a pocket of hot, rising thermals from the scorched asphalt runway. It was
barely enough to keep me aloft, but it saved the day. Overwhelmed with guilt
for violating military airspace, I continued to circle in the rising air,
gathering the courage to resume my journey home.

As I made my way back, the lift conditions began to improve, a relief like
no other. I kept the incident to myself, fearing repercussions from the FAA
or even the U.S. Army. I couldn't bring myself to share this tale of
recklessness and disobedience. Decades passed, and now, in my eighties, I
finally feel safe enough to reveal my daring escapade. I hope you find this
story of audacity, survival, and the thrill of the skies as captivating as
it was for me.
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