The field was large, the crop
rows were oriented to the wind direction, and I could roll out to a main County road
in front of a home and some farm buildings. No obstacles to worry about other than
an electric line along the road on the North side of the field, plenty of room, sounds
like a plan - set up the pattern.
Other than being my first off-field landout, it was uneventful, right according to plan. Prior to landing, I had radioed my intentions to one of our club ships. After stopping, I radioed again to ask that he relay to Glider Ground that I and 8C were safe and to please send Flip to my location.
I grabbed my hand held in case I would need it, and started to walk toward the buildings. They all appeared to be vacant. I walked over to a grove of shade trees between the house and the bean field to wait for help to arrive. As I was sitting there, a beautiful young woman walked out of the tall rows of corn across the road, in a kind of "Field of Dreams" manner. She said she had seen me fly low over her house and thought I was going to land, and had come to see if I was all right. I thanked her for her kindness as two of the most stereotypical, off-duty Bubba-Style Sheriff's Deputy's one could imagine, rolled up in a 3/4 ton 4WD pickup. I excused myself from the woman. Bubba 1 and Bubba 2, each over 300 #, rolled out of the truck with hand helds and one with a clipboard. They asked for ID, where I had come from and was going, if this was an accident that needed to be reported to the FAA, if there was crop damage, and ultimately, if I had run out of wind. It did not take a second for me to decide that these two would not begin to understand the dynamics of powerless flight, so I agreed with that. This answer also must have negated the need for any further questions, as there were none. I turned back to the woman and she was gone, she had disappeared as quickly as she had arrived.
The deputies went about their business calling the dispatcher and then the farmer who owned the crop land. It did not take long for them to learn he was away at a family picnic and expected back shortly. I resumed waiting for Flip to arrive and within a moment, Al Jennings, a member of our club stopped on his motorcycle. He had come by on his way home to see if he could help. He was aware that Flip, who had been towing, would be along as soon as another tow pilot could take over for him. Shortly thereafter, Flip arrived and we quickly made a plan to extract 8C from the field.
I wanted to keep the crop damage to a minimum. As I was the individual that maintained Central Indiana Soaring Society's tow ropes, I just happened to have a spool of 1/4" poly in the back of my SUV. We set up the trailer in a good spot and unhitched it. I then tied a loop in the end of the tow rope and pulled it out to 8C about 400' away while carefully avoiding stepping on any plants. Flip had positioned the SUV at the edge of the field which gave him about 150' that he could move forward before returning to the starting point and retying the rope to the hitch. After connecting the rope and pulling the glider thru a 90 degree turn to face the disassembly spot, I walked a wingtip as Flip pulled 8C out. On the third pull 8C was right behind the trailer, a quarter turn and it was ready to be disassembled.
We had the wings in the trailer when a tall, well tanned, middle-aged man wearing pull on boots, blue jeans and plaid shirt arrived. He paid no attention to us, only chatting briefly with Bubba 1, and then motioned to me to come over to where he was standing. Bubba 1 made the introductions and we shook hands. The farmer asked me about the damage to his beans. I told how I had landed and removed the glider from the field, explaining that the worst damage was visible right at the edge of the field where it had been towed across the rows. He walked over and looked closely and after a few minutes said that at this stage, they would spring right back and it was unlikely that there would be any damage. But just in case, would I please give him my phone number. I agreed and produced a business card for him. It was at that point that he asked if I had run out of wind. I did not want to change my story, what with Bubba 1 standing right there. This is when I invented the "Modified Ran out of Wind Explanation." Briefly, it incorporates these elements: the glider is always descending through the air, in effect creating it's own wind from gravity; we fly about looking for air rising because it has been heated; by flying in rising air, like a hawk or Turkey Buzzard (Soaring birds familiar to Indiana farmers,) we too could fly without flapping our wings, (needing an engine.) If we can't find rising air we, in effect, run out of wind. Bubba 1's face lit up like he had just gotten a "A" in Quantum Mechanics. The farmer, whose expression never changed throughout this entire conversation, gripped his jaw firmly between his thumb and index finger with the rest curled under his chin. After what seemed like an eternity, he looked at me and said, "What you're telling me is these things are just like those damn balloons!"
Without another word, he turned and walked to his truck, I never heard from him afterward.
