The Unexpected Peril
of Paramotoring
This is my first sequel!
So please read my post:
before reading this one.
(Or not.)
Sorry for the sequel approach, but the Beggar Gone Bad caught me blogging, so I had to hit send, before he could delete my message.
As it turned out, the Beggar Gone Bad was actually a Rich Guy Gone Good.
He has so much money, that he wants to share it with those who don’t have a thing. Obviously, he can’t hand out money willy-nilly without some sort of screening process, so he posed as a beggar.
My gift of bananas and cashews led him to pick me as the first recipient of wish-fulfillment program. Yay me!
Wish I’d known sooner that that’s what he was up to. After he stoped me from blogging, I head-butted him and said, “If you don’t know what paramotoring is, Google it! Don’t kidnap me!”
After he got stitches while his bodyguards rushed in and water-boarded me into submission, he explained his name is Dexter Ulysses Hammond, a billionaire whose successful website and related products for helping men achieve confidence with women brought him more wealth than he knows what to do with.
I said, “So Dex, you’re a con man who’s swindled millions of men; and now you feel guilty.”
Dexter looked appalled at my accusation.
I said, “We both know confidence with women comes from being comfortable with ourselves and sharing that comfort with others. The joy of life and all that.”
He sighed, nodded, and smiled. He knew I was right. He knew.
I explained that I think paramotoring is the safest form of solo flying, because unlike hang gliding, you take off from the ground. And you’re already wearing an open parachute, so if the engine malfunctions, or dies, you don’t have to worry about whether or not your chute will open.
Mister Hammond thought that sounded pretty cool, so he nodded to his bodyguards to stop water-boarding.
After I dried off and put on a polyester jumper suit, Dexter and I flew to Canada, so we could paramotor and watch caribou.
I had suggested the Everglades to watch alligators, but he was paying, so I wasn’t going to complain.
His chef Andre had an omelet station where he made us custom omelets. I really like those, so I kept ordering more. Although he was a generous billionaire, I sensed him becoming ill at ease after my seventh omelet.
I smiled apologetically. “These remind me of my family. We used to eat these at the Lone Palm restaurant and later at the Grasslands restaurant. When I was younger. My sister and I used to have contests. Um. These are really good. And they’re very filling too.”
He nodded. “But where do you put all that food?”
“In my mouth! Haven’t you been watching?”
Even Andre laughed at that one.
Two more omelets later, we landed Dexter’s Boeing 727-23 at the Jean Lesage International Airport in Quebec. A.k.a. Aéroport international Jean-Lesage de Québec.
Within two hours after landing, we were in the air again, paramotoring!
Dex (he actually let me call him that!) bought the best paramotors too. The kind you start with a button, instead of the cheapy kind you start like a lawn mower. Thus, we could kill the engines at three thousand feet to glide around and survey the wilderness below us.
What a dream come true, minus not having Jennifer Love Hewitt with me.
Or Anne Hathaway if Christopher Nolan let her keep the Catwoman costume.
Dex swooped down for a closer look at the caribou, while I rode a thermal (the heat rising from the rocks) to zoom over the mountain range to see what was on the other side.
Just then, I learned that flying with an open parachute might have one downfall. A sudden gust erupting from the valley below thrust me into a jet stream shooting north.
North?! I was already in Quebec. How much north was left?
Still thrashed about by the wind, I got hurled over an icy wasteland.
I thought I saw some Eskimos and polar bears. But the wind whipped me about too much to let me focus on any one thing.
Until …
Suddenly, the ice was gone. The wind died. The air felt warm. I stopped shivering and sighed. Only to notice the huge gaping hole beneath me.
Gasp! A dark and menacing hole miles wide that seemed to have no bottom.
I couldn’t maneuver to the side fast enough to avoid the oncoming descent. The stench of sulfur seemed unbearable. Really. I no longer saw a polar bear anywhere.
So I called Dex real quick to say “Thanks for the memories.”
And then I blogged this as quickly as I could, since I knew I’d lose my Internet connection deep inside the Earth.
A sulfur-scented, seemingly bottomless pit from which heat emanated. Was this? Gulp! The hot place that’s not Heaven?!
I only had enough time left to type …
TO BE CONTINUED AGAIN!
(I hope again.)
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