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" Popular Mechanics contributing editor Jeff Wise, a private pilot and long-time aviation writer, takes on his biggest challenge yet: Flying without an engine. No matter how experienced the pilot, getting a glider license is no easy sail. The first drops of rain started to fall as I pulled to a stop at Freehold Airport. It was nine o&amp;#039;clock in the morning, and I was scheduled to meet my instructor, Jeff, for our second consecutive day of intensive training in preparation for my glider-license check ride. Within minutes the rain was coming down in buckets. The weather forecast had called for mid-80s temps and partly cloudy skies. So what was this? I called the FAA&amp;#039;s nearest Flight Services Station and spoke with a weather briefer. &amp;quot;This wasn&amp;#039;t forecast,&amp;quot; she told me, &amp;quot;and we don&amp;#039;t know what&amp;#039;s causing it. Must be some kind of upper level disturbance.&amp;quot; Rain dripped off the eaves as Jeff and I sat indoors and went over the practical test standards, reviewing what maneuvers I&amp;#039;d need to be able to perform. As tends to happen when pilots sit down together, we kept on wandering off into reminiscences of adventures past. It turns out that we both had rueful memories of the same tall tree that stands just west of the runway in Great Barrington, Massachusetts. Other club members wandered and wandered out, and each time they did the conversation would spin in yet another direction. By noon, the rain had stopped and hints of blue were peeking through the overcast. &amp;quot;Let&amp;#039;s get lunch, and then pull the glider out,&amp;quot; Jeff said. By two p.m. the day had been completely transformed: the chilly gloom of the mysterious rainstorm had given way to a muggy, hot summer summer afternoon. We launched up into an easterly breeze and released at four thousand feet. Up here, the air was as smooth as custard, and the slow-flight maneuvers that had been so hard to carry out in yesterday&amp;#039;s choppy air were today nearly effortless.  &amp;quot;See that factory over by the creek?&amp;quot; Jeff said. &amp;quot;Let&amp;#039;s go there.&amp;quot; I pushed the stick forward, and pegged the airspeed indicator at 70 mph. We seemed to be plunging headlong towards the ground as the roar of passing air filled the cockpit. The sluggish 2-33, which has a reputation for flying &amp;quot;like a pig&amp;quot;, was transformed into a rocket. Going this fast felt wasteful \u2013 high speed translates into high drag, which quickly bleeds off the glider&amp;#039;s energy and causes it to sink much more quickly \u2014 but when you&amp;#039;re trying to get out of sinking air it&amp;#039;s actually an optimal strategy. One last maneuver: as we passed over the airfield Jeff pointed out a cluster of trees by the side of the runway and told me that he wanted me to touch down no earlier than there and to bring the glider to a full stop within 200 feet. Given my lackluster landings over the last few weeks, I wondered if I&amp;#039;d be able to pull it off. But I&amp;#039;d learned a lot during my sessions with Jeff, and knew how to correct my earlier errors. As I set up my approach I was careful to deploy the speed brakes earlier and keep the ship near the glide slope. When I felt I&amp;#039;d gotten a little high, I added more speed brake, and let it off when I felt low. Suddenly, a hundred feet above the grass, the picture felt wrong. I was too high: I was going to float right past that cluster of trees. &amp;quot;Shoot,&amp;quot; I muttered, and threw in full brakes while I turned the glider sideways in a slip \u2013 not a very skillful one, since I started to drift left over the runway. Ten feet off the ground I straightened the nose and let out the speed brake so we wouldn&amp;#039;t touch down too hard. Quietly, the glider settled into the ground and slid to a stop.  I popped the canopy and looked back: the cluster of trees was just behind the tail, maybe 150 feet away. I&amp;#039;d made it, after all \u2013 not gracefully, but safely.  We pulled the glider back to the end of the runway and Jeff signed off my log book with two endorsements: one which said that he&amp;#039;d given me instruction to prepare me for an FAA check ride, and another which said that I&amp;#039;d received that instruction. I don&amp;#039;t really understand the distinction, but the meaning is clear enough: I&amp;#039;m ready to take my check ride. \u2014Jeff Wise Next: Ticket to Glide.Earlier: Soaring. Finally. No Parking: The author, with instructor Jeff Driscoll, right, prepare to manually taxi after a landing at Freehold airport.  Ground School: Catching up on some last-minute studying of flight regs. Catch a Lift: The author and Driscoll get a tow to altitude. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.popularmechanics.com/adventure/a12621/3184841/>