RGSA/Hawks,
With a week off from work and restricted to the apartment due to the one hundred (plus) degree heat, Taro's wife Mary must have been at her wits end.
When Cabin Fever infects the home the walls feel like they are moving closer together. Mary probably suggested to Taro, "You should go flying."
Wives' can come totally unglued with husbands noisily swish, swish, SWISHING across the carpet in their stocking feet.
(Day in and day freaking out for a whole week--well for the most part!) Good Lord by Wednesday she'd probably rather be water boarded.
The nose blowing and throat clearing without any warning what-so-ever had to be on purpose. Her mother didn't raise any dummy.
So Mary owes me big time for volunteering to drive for Taro. I'm thinking my assisting Taro to go some place and jump off a cliff is close to what she had in mind.
When Taro and I arrived at the Little Florida Mts. launch ramp site there was no ramp in sight. The ramp had in fact launched itself for a short cross country (XC) flight over the back. The one ton anchor cord after many years had mostly vaporized under the hot desert sun. The four by twelve wood top had exploded on impact which testified to the fact that it had set its second best altitude record.
About 15 years earlier the XC was three hundred yards over the back when the anchor cord yelled, "CLEAR!"
We carried the two 1/4" X 2" X 2" by twelve feet long Aluminum angle pieces back to the vehicle and tied them on the top for repair at home.
Then in hopeless desperation we walked the hill looking for any other place to launch like I had already done years before without any luck.
In the hundred degree heat we wet our shirts down and put them back on in an effort to thwart the game plan of the Grim Reaper.
We stopped in at the Adobe Deli for two Dr. Pepper's and an order of fries for just under ten dollars.
We were back in Las Cruces by 4:00 pm.
(If we can't find a better way to anchor the next ramp maybe we should apply for "N" numbers.)