“Amos was standing on a hillside north of town. Actually, not standing so much as digging his heels in. He was wearing a helmet and orange sunglasses with pastel frames. The helmet strap was so tight, he had to talk through clenched teeth. “I won’t do it.” He was not standing alone. Dunc—Duncan—Culpepper, his best friend for life, was there with him. Well down the hill, a mile away and seemingly almost vertically below them, stood their helper and instructor, Tod Meserman. Dunc was standing bene...ath a hang glider and holding its pipe frames. It was early morning—just past dawn—and though the air was fairly calm, soft breezes wafted up the hill and fluttered the cloth on the glider now and then. “Come on, Amos. You did it at least ten times when you were taking the lessons.” Dunc wiggled the glider to emphasize. “It’s perfectly safe.” “I crashed.” “You didn’t crash. You made a slightly early landing.” “I crashed. I went down like an anvil out of a four-story window.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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