It was too windy to fly rockets this evening, so I got out the kites. Well, one of them: I seem to have lost the cross-rod to my seven footer.
Anyway, I got the airfoil out to the end of its line, about 200 feet I think. And got to thinking of the other spool I have, with another 200 feet or so. There was plenty of wind to hold up the weight of a plastic spool, so I hooked the eye of the second spool onto the frame of the first spool and let her spin out.
Four hundred feet away, I can hardly see my kite. And I realize, there's just something wrong with me: I can't enjoy the kite at the end of its line, I have to double up, even when that makes the kite less impressive to see. And if I'd had a third spool...
Meanwhile, when Mo wasn't defacing the parking lot, she was getting serious altitude on the swings. Over my head altitude. And I had to wonder, where does she get this craving for altitude?
Anyway, getting back to whatever is the matter with me: I don't really have the attention span for kites. Rockets fit my temperament much better that way. I say this because I don't really know how this happened.
I lost my grip on the spool. Not like the wind pried it out of my claws, more like I just dropped it. And it took off.
It caught on the fence almost long enough to get me to think I'd catch up to it.
Then it was off across the clover.
So it was my turn to clear the fence and move west, fast. No way I can run fifteen miles an hour, which was about the average wind speed this evening. But the spindle kept hanging up on bunches of clover, and after a chase of only a hundred yards or so (by which point I was dying), I managed to retrieve the line.
And yeah, my heel spur is thanking me for it. I'm going to ice it down as soon as I'm done ranting here.
Oh, and whatever is wrong with me, at least I'm not the kind of idiot who puts graffiti like this one the kid's play equipment at the park.
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