“Let’s go jump off a mountain!” No thanks. Standing cautiously on the very top a ramp that ends in nothingness makes me queasy. I take in the view, but step back to safety seconds later.
One wonders what happened to this gentleman. 
Behold the giant thumb!
Visiting The Pulpit, a hang gliders dream launch spot near our vacation cabin above McConnellsburg, PA is a must to take in the splendors of south central Pennsylvania. The rocky promontory, located a little ways beyond the iconic biker beer joint The Mountain House, apparently got its name from a visiting preacher who expounded from the stony perch.
Up a small rock strewn slope, there are two wooden (and, to me, sort of creaky looking) ramps, one smaller than the other. If you go at sunrise, which I never do because I prefer my warm bed at that hour, you can face east and get a glorious view over the ridges. At sunset (the better option in my opinion), you get the view over the town, the farmland and to the western mountains.
One of the many interns who lived with us temporarily over the years, Anneke from Germany, came to the cabin with us one wintry weekend about ten years ago. We walked to the Pulpit and she met some intrepid hang gliders from the club that frequents the site. She fell instantly in love with the idea of learning to hang glide, or, she later decided, to paraglide.
If you think hang gliding sounds risky, paragliding is even more crazy. Instead of jumping off a ramp into nothingness strapped to some substantial wings, you jump into nothingness tethered to a wide parachute held precariously by a bunch of thin ropes. She successfully mastered this bizarre hobby, and last time I checked she was still alive and well.
The view is thrilling enough for me. Leave flying to the birds.
