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I wrote about the Gossmaer Albatross II late last year. But looking at the aircraft that requires pedal power hang in The Museum of Flight in Seattle still amazes me.
My family and I recently visited again because flight – especially when it’s powered by humans - still captures my curiosity. On this visit, the sun was just the right shade of gold.
If you’re unfamiliar with the Gossamers, one model, the Condor, was piloted by a human across the English Channel in 1979. This model, the Albatross II on exhibit in Seattle, went airborne in the Astrodome.
From June 6 to 14, The Museum of Flight will show two movies about human-powered flight and the Gossamers to mark the Albatross’ 30th anniversary.
There is something inexplicably satisfying about using your own power to accomplish something that you thought might have been impossible.
The Seattle area crew of OAR Northwest knows that feeling. The team of four men rowed across the Atlantic Ocean in 2006, ran low on food, encountered storms and unforgiving currents – and won a race against two other teams.
Next year, two of the original team members plan to row again in the Atlantic with two new crewmates.
At The Musem of Flight, I walked around the Gossamer Albatross II. I examined the wingspan, propeller and enclosed area where a human would sit and pedal, pedal, pedal.
And I thought: Would I ever be willing to climb aboard, take flight and pedal across a large body of water?
That 1979 flight only took 2 hours and 49 minutes, according to The Museum of Flight.
It’s tempting – but it might not be in the cards for me right now. I’m sure some of my friends from high school would give it a shot.
But I have experienced the exhaustion and joy of overcoming what I thought was a hurdle before – it probably wasn’t anything close to what the crew of OAR Northwest went through.
That was a true test of human power and intelligence against what Mother Nature could muster up in the Atlantic.
But in the 1980s, when I was a teenager, my friends encouraged me to pedal 100 miles in a century ride in Northern California. They did well. I finished the ride in under 10 hours.
I still remember what one veteran bicyclist told me as he saw me pedal: Drink as much water as you can.
In 1994, I accomplished a 1,200-mile solo mountain bike ride through China – at a time when I didn’t know how to speak Mandarin.
My parents had some reservations about the ride – the thought of bandits stopping me on a rural road entered their minds, and I think, stayed there for a bit.
The fact that I mailed home my Specialized bike helmet before I started my trek probably didn’t allay their fears.
At the time, a Western-style bike helmet would make the rider stand out like an alien force of one. My helmet also was silver.
But on that trip, in which I pedaled 8 to 10 hours per day, I saw parts of that country that I don’t think I’ll ever see again in the near future.
Near Luoyang in Henan province, I looked up and saw a pair of feet sticking out of a cave. A person was sleeping inside.
A big black Mercedes-Benz one time pulled beside me and everyone inside peered out. Another time, I watched a woman rake a field made up of dirt. She made orderly rows of what she had.
And I saw peasants lead water buffaloes down paths.
With the sun setting on the Gossamer Albatross II, I studied the rear-mounted propeller.
I also looked at the front and back wheels that made sure the pedaler arrived with a soft landing.
Then, I compared those tiny wheels to the tires on a nearby commercial jet.
I finally realized that I had to catch up with my wife and son. They were exploring another part of the museum.
As I climbed some stairs, I turned back to get a glimpse of the setting sun hit the outlines of the museum’s aircraft.
It was a great visit.
It reminded me, yet again, that going somewhere makes for only part of an adventure. It’s also how you arrive.
