By the time the solo trikes got going, it was windy. I mean, it was blowing a good 20kt on the ground and tempers were short, especially on the part of Rawesy when he found that a French trike was parked in his allocated spot. Here's Owain shortly before receiving the photos.
The task only took about 90 mins to fly, but we had to sit around in quarantine waiting for everyone else to land, so runners were sent to get bottled beer. Good time for a bit of lazy chat and descriptions of staring doom in the face while trying to hang on the the bar for dear life. It was particularly gnawing for some, you just had to grin and bear it, show those pearly whites and bite down. I'm sure I could hear the grinding of teeth at one point... and I was right. Poor Simon was asking for Superglue later to fix his teeth - he'd actually broken them while getting kicked around the sky!
If it's tales of death-defying stunts and courageous resilience then Hadders is your man. I can't remember the details, but I think he said he was flying backwards, swerving through the trees as he was sucked in by an earthquake, his leg had been severed, his fingers numb through frostbite, yet despite temporary blindness he managed to avoid a grizzly bear while single-handedly fighting off the Spanish Armada. He's not the tallest bloke in the team (he wouldn't be the tallest bloke in the Dwarf Olympics either) but he's built of pure steel - witness the "Mr Muscle" arms, the trademark of a true Chaser pilot.
The scores are out, mixed results for some, an absolute stormer for Frank and Brad, and Paul "You disa-respecta ma familia?" and the boffin are successfully not losing points. Here's a very serious team meeting to discuss the intricacies of the rules and detailed plan of attack for the next day.
There's no flying today (Wednesday). The rainfall radar is not very spesh, and the organisers have laid on buses to Prague, about 2 hours away. Day off, then.
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