| the
alternative weblog |
|
|
entry 62 - 4th March 02
|
 |
|
|
||||||||||||||
|
|
|
fly
the copter
To Sisbury Ring on the bus, which
wasn't easy. The Huey is massive, and all its extra bits and pieces filled
two carrier bags.
I was scared to let it lift itself off the ground, even an inch. Every time it cleared the tops of the blades of grass it transformed itself - no matter what I did or didn't do to the controls - into a randomly spinning gyrotop from Hell. Twelve hundred quidsworth of randomly spinning gyrotop from Hell. So, for about three hours, instead of actual flight, I learnt how to make the Huey drag itself along the ground: backwards, forwards and from side to side. At one point I realised I had an audience: an elderly Japanese man and his wife. "Fry, fry, fry," laughed the man, raising his palms skyward. I blipped the collective lever and the Huey rose to six inches, then everything went pear-shaped, so I let it drop back down again, onto the grass, to safety. I smiled knowingly at the Japanese bloke. "Higher," he said. "Fry higher, higher, higher!" "Piss off," I thought. game
|
|
|
|||||||||||
| > |
|
 
|
Flying
the Huey wasn't just a bit more tricky than flying the Corsair, but was
sort of in a totally different difficulty dimension: a parallel universe
of hardness.
