I can't end on such a serious note, so I must tell one last In the spring of 1968 there was an early warm spell here in Madison and the top few inches of Lake Mendota began to thaw. Then on a windless Saturday night the temperature plummeted again and the lake's surface refroze to be glassy smooth. While I was eating my usual bowl of corn flakes and raisins the next morning and reading the Sunday paper, the phone rang. It was Ray Herb. "Tom. Would you like to go skate sailing?" "Why, sure!" I was invited to bring my skates and come to the Herb's house in Middleton where Ray was assembling everything else we needed. We were met there by Willy and by Randy Durand. Ann Herb drove us all down to the lakeshore in Middleton where there was a fine steady breeze blowing directly across Mendota toward the Yahara River. We donned our skates, Ray gave me simple instructions in how to use what looked to be simply a six foot kite with a big handle for the crossbar. Then off the other three went and left me to stumble along. It took me a good while to "get my legs" and learn how to manage that sail. I tried to tack, but realized that my skate blades were no substitute for a centerboard. Every time I would get up to speed, the wind direction would shift slightly or there would be a small crack in the ice to interfere. I could see the three others disappearing like specks in the distance. Finally they stopped and sat down on the ice to wait for me. When I caught up with them I realized I didn't know how to stop except to execute a planned fall. That wasn't hard, because I was tired after only the first quarter of the eight-mile venture. This continued for the entire route until I was completely exhausted. When I reached the other side, there was Ray sitting on a mound of ice at a pressure crack waiting for me and smiling. He was obviously pleased that he had succeeded in wiping out someone more than thirty years his junior twice now in less than nine months. Everybody else had stored their gear atop the station wagon which Ann had driven around to meet us. As I dragged myself and my kite over that ice wall, Ray inquired, "Well, Tom. Do you want to go around and do it again?"
I can't end on such a serious note, so I must tell one last In the spring of 1968 there was an early warm spell here in Madison and the top few inches of Lake Mendota began to thaw. Then on a windless Saturday night the temperature plummeted again and the lake's surface refroze to be glassy smooth. While I was eating my usual bowl of corn flakes and raisins the next morning and reading the Sunday paper, the phone rang. It was Ray Herb. "Tom. Would you like to go skate sailing?" "Why, sure!" I was invited to bring my skates and come to the Herb's house in Middleton where Ray was assembling everything else we needed. We were met there by Willy and by Randy Durand. Ann Herb drove us all down to the lakeshore in Middleton where there was a fine steady breeze blowing directly across Mendota toward the Yahara River. We donned our skates, Ray gave me simple instructions in how to use what looked to be simply a six foot kite with a big handle for the crossbar. Then off the other three went and left me to stumble along. It took me a good while to "get my legs" and learn how to manage that sail. I tried to tack, but realized that my skate blades were no substitute for a centerboard. Every time I would get up to speed, the wind direction would shift slightly or there would be a small crack in the ice to interfere. I could see the three others disappearing like specks in the distance. Finally they stopped and sat down on the ice to wait for me. When I caught up with them I realized I didn't know how to stop except to execute a planned fall. That wasn't hard, because I was tired after only the first quarter of the eight-mile venture. This continued for the entire route until I was completely exhausted. When I reached the other side, there was Ray sitting on a mound of ice at a pressure crack waiting for me and smiling. He was obviously pleased that he had succeeded in wiping out someone more than thirty years his junior twice now in less than nine months. Everybody else had stored their gear atop the station wagon which Ann had driven around to meet us. As I dragged myself and my kite over that ice wall, Ray inquired, "Well, Tom. Do you want to go around and do it again?"