Soaring
I'm soaring over the Alps with Karl Striedieck. We're in a sleek ASK21 and obviously in some strong wave. The altimeter is steadily climbing and the variometer is pegged out. The wave is created by the wind moving over the mountains, channeling upward to heights in excess of 40,000 feet. One characteristic of wave is the smoothness of the ascent. It's been compared to riding an elevator up into the firmament. I'm watching the altimeter go past 27,000 feet and enjoying the spectacular view when I begin to wonder why we haven't put our oxygen masks on yet. At this altitude, hypoxia is certain to set in soon. The ASK21 is one bad ass glider but it's not pressurized.

Then I hear the alarm. It sounds odd, but audio variometers come in all different noises and I've never been in this glider before. Still, the alarm sounds unusual: out of place in this setting. It's a cheap sounding series of notes with a verbal message at the end I'm having difficulty understanding. I'm worried it may be in a foreign language and I'm missing something very important. The instruments look fine and at this altitude there's little to worry about like stalling or spinning; we could spin for thousands of feet and still recover with room to spare. Altitude is your friend in a glider.

There it is again, a series of oddly cheery notes. I think to myself this is a stupid warning tone. I check the landing gear--it's up. Spoilers are in, although I'd be able to tell even in this lift if they weren't. Something is wrong and it's bugging me. Mistakes in the air are not forgiven; I wait for the verbal message that's been coming after it. It is crucial I understand it this time--I'm starting to think maybe life or death. I strain to understand:

"Thanks for learning with Leapfrog!"

I pad barefoot from the bedroom into the playroom. The little purple caterpillar alphabet toy has gone berserk as the batteries drained. I fumble in the dark to turn this multi-legged spelling insect off before it speaks again.

My life these days. So full of danger.