Only the fourth day on the job, and twenty feet from my body, a propeller was spinning at 2,000 rpm. Granted, the propeller was attached to a towplane, but its baritone cry of tweep tweep tweep tweep still did not reverberate well in my heart. I was at Randall Airport in Middle-town, New York. I had just become a member of the Valley Soaring Club, a glider flying club where an hour-long lesson in the club's 50-year-old Schweizer SGS 2-33 only puts you back $27. Only a matter of weeks before, I had gone on an introductory flight in the very same airplane. However, this time I was with a nationally renowned, award-winning glider pilot, whom I just had to impress with my novice skills.
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