Sometimes I carpool to Salt Lake with my friend Melissa. She works at the Gateway mall, which is a mere matter of blocks from my office, and so whenever she is scheduled to work the beloved 8-5 shift, she and I arrange to drive together. I save gas, get to use the carpool lane, and, most of all, have company on what is normally a long, lonely commute.
One morning in June, as we were just passing Thanksgiving Point, we saw the common sight of hang gliders in the sky. Today, for some reason, there seemed to be a lot of them-- maybe there was a convention or something. Anyway, we began to discuss the concept of hang gliding and if it was something we would enjoy doing. I made the comment that although such an activity would clearly cater to my daredevil palette, I was hesitant to go at that particular location. It was, after all, right across the freeway from the penitentiary. What if a large gust of wind picked me up, carried me across I-15, and dropped me right square into the middle of the maximum security recess area? Seeing as it was 7:15 in the morning when we had this conversation and we had gotten about 4 hours of sleep the night before, we found this to be an extremely funny possibility. I realize that to the reader this seems quite humor-less, but for some reason it had us in stitches for the rest of the drive. That evening, as we approached the point of the mountain on our journey home, we both got the giggles again.
Fast forward to a week ago. It is again 7:15, though this time, our heroine Meggan is driving all by herself. I am suffering from a severe case of fatigue, though this time, since I am alone, that fatigue transfers into a coma-like daze rather than a case of the sleepy sillies. Talk radio is at full volume, frosty diet coke in the cup holder, and my eyes are transfixed on the bumper of the car in front of me (which apparently is transporting the proud parent of an honor student. My mom never would put those stickers on our car, and now I understand why.). All of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of orange nylon. There is a hang glider who has broken free of the pack. I am assuming his detour was unintentional, as he is getting perilously close to the ground, which happens to be an intersection. He makes several sharp turns back and forth and eventually lands safely in the Lehi Park and Ride lot. I was so fascinated with watching him that I almost hit that honor student'’s proud parent'’s car.
Fast forward again to this morning. Melissa and I are driving together, and as the point of the mountain comes into view, I start laughing hysterically. So badly, in fact, that tears start running down my cheeks. I explain the story of the wayward glider to her. She laughs a little, but apparently fails to see the humorous nature of this tale. I explain to her that if a glider could make it that far off course, surely an emergency landing at the penitentiary is not as far-fetched as we had originally imagined. We measured the distance from the Park and Ride lot to the mountain, and sure enough, it was 2.5 miles. Plenty of room to land you in the middle of the big house.
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