Aerial photography is a rite of passage for young, hopeful and naïve photographers.
So when I was asked to shoot photos for this month’s feature story about Mike Theeke’s Skycycle business I just said yes and Googled later. I didn’t know what this machine was, but I don’t have an irrational fear of planes and heights don’t bother me, so I figured I’d be OK.
But later when I was watching the equivalent of a go-kart/hang glider/flying machine whip through the air thousands of feet above the ground, I immediately started to regret clicking the video labeled “MOST EXTREME STUNTS EVER.”
You see, an ultralite trike, by name and FAA classification, means it can’t weigh more than 250 pounds. While the two-seater I piggybacked in was more of the light sport variety, it doesn’t, at all, change the fact that you’re strapped into a go-kart, wearing a flight suit and helmet like you’re some reincarnation of Evel Knievel.
At the Marion County Municipal Airport, after talking, inspecting and learning more about these machines from Mike (and after enthusiastically encouraging Andy Johns, our fearless writer, to go first) I agreed to join the club at the risk of being called a chicken, and more importantly, not getting the shots we needed for the story.
There’s some comfort to these machines. By regulation, the ultralight trike is limited in speed, topping out at 60 mph in the air. The wings are long-long enough to establish a 10:1 glide ratio-meaning that once in the air you’re not going to simply spontaneously plummet to the cold, hard ground.
You’ll just gently glide like you’re in a hang glider, something my pilot, Mike, is well versed in.
And then there’s Mike, who not only is an experienced hang glider, but has built the machine by hand and flown it multiple times a day for years. He’s a bit of an expert and it’s hard not to trust his judgment no matter how bare-bones these trikes are.
As nervous as I was at takeoff, the feeling of leaving the ground was nothing like flying in a plane. There’s no pulling on your stomach as you take off. Instead, just a gentle lift and you’re up. The propeller behind you pushes you forward and up and out and way above the ground.
The beauty of our area is front and center when you’re 2,000 feet above the ground. Sure, maybe it was the fact that I was not enclosed in any type of structure or that I could wave my arms and touch pure air as we glided through the sky, but I felt closer to the world even though I was hanging above it. The greens were fresh and crisp and the blue of the Tennessee River was shimmery and glowing as we flew by.
After some time in the air, Mike coached me through the landing process. Before we were to make our descent, to prove that he can and that the machine is safe, he turned off the engine, and we glided down through the air ever so slightly. There was a sharp moment of panic, but it subsided as Mike gently glided down to earth unfazed.
As I said my Hail Mary’s on the way down, Mike turned to me and then said, “See, not too bad, right?”