COMBAT AND COMPETITION.pdf - Lakes Gliding Club

CHAPTER ELEVEN A TESTING TIME
order. And now to be faced with this. He turned to me - the anger
visible in his eyes - and for a moment I caught a glimpse of the SAS
professional.
"I don't know about you" - he said testily - "But I had to get there.
I really needed those extra points today."
Philip left Lasham on a high note and went off to fly in the Dutch
Nationals. After he had gone we flew three more tasks, but the Long
Mynd race had put Steve into an almost unassailable position and he
defended it well. Even Nick, with the advantage of his epic flight at
the beginning, was unable to close the gap. He and I were to remain
second and third through to the end of the contest.
Soon afterwards Anne, Harry and I set course for the French
Championships at St Yan, with a brief stop at the Paris Air Show. Ours
was the equipage to beat them all, over fifty five feet long. The 419
trailer was pretty substantial and we were towing it with an outsize
ambulance. Originally ordered by the now defunct Suez Canal
Company, Horace had acquired two of them, in near mint condition,
and the one which we were using had been converted into a very
acceptable motor home. The Suez extras, such as mosquito screens and
fans, were still in place. Even the bell was working. To use in extremis
if we dared.
Only the loo was missing - a vital necessity on those long open
roads across the centre of France. So we cut a hole in the floor near the
front of the trailer, with an aluminium flap to keep out the dust, and
a big plastic funnel. After due consideration we discarded the idea of
a notice - 'Not to be used when the train is standing in the station' -
for that would have been illegal!
St Yan had its moments. Winning on the first day, and then
wrecking my chances on the second by pushing too hard at the end of
a race. It was crass stupidity. Allowing myself to be incited by a gaggle
of Breguet901s which were being flown in true Gallic fashion. We left
the last thermal together, with precious little height in reserve, and I
failed to accept the superiority of the 901 at high speed until it was too
late. Flying one soon afterwards revealed the advantage of negative
flap, to become the norm in later years, but that was no excuse.
Day three, going due east, developed into a long sweaty struggle in
the Saone valley. Lower and lower. Trapped in a sweltering oven with
no means of escape. Crossing the river was little more than a last
desperate gamble with barely enough height to reach the nearest ridge
on the other side. When I eventually got there, hundreds of feet below
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