The Flight of The Millibar Messenger -- cont.

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Outside Magazine June 2001

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The Flight of The Millibar Messenger -- cont.

THE FLIGHT OF THE Millibar Messenger begins poorly. Minutes after takeoff, at 1:02 p.m., the kite flounders in a pocket of dead air at 2,000 feet, swooping, drooping, and rising again on thermals. Synergy slams the winch into forward and reverse—thunka-thunka, thunka-thunka—like a deep-sea fisherman playing a marlin. No amount of teasing can rouse the kite to steadier winds. "It¹s just riding the thermal like a hang-glider," he says. "The line is utterly slack. This is traumatic. C'mon, wind, where are you? Oh, c'mon, kite, don't do this shit."

It will be a long day.

1:30: The kite is still exerting only 20 pounds of pull—not enough to draw line off the winch. Synergy reels some in in an exasperated bid to manufacture artificial lift. "Don't just sit there. Up!"

3:00: At last! The kite begins to climb. Synergy's mood lightens when he realizes he's surpassed his own Canadian altitude record of 4,870 feet.

3:20: The pull increases to 40 pounds; the line is flying off the reel at two feet per second. "I'm moved to say this could be a happy experience after all," he proclaims. The kite disappears into a cloud, thereby breaking an aviation safety law. "We've just violated Rule 602.45. Well, slap my wrists!"

3:55: The kite is now visible only through binoculars, a fleck receding into the blue. "We're halfway to heaven," Synergy says, cupping his hands to his mouth: "Up, up, up!"

5:00: Only a few thousand feet left. Synergy paces.

5:05: Disaster! One of the hammies announces in a tone of high alarm that the line has wedged itself between a pulley's grooved wheel and its housing. If it cuts the line, the Millibar Messenger will sail off on a misbegotten joyride. "God, I'd love to beat Murphy just this once!" Synergy fumes. He grabs two broom-sized fiberglass poles, coils some line around them, then twists them to act as holding bars. Five crew members fly the kite by hand for the next 35 minutes while Synergy drills the pulley off the winch and screws in a replacement.

6:00: "The flying's over," Synergy announces as soon as the crisis has passed. "Retrieval is where we're at." Still, he can't resist venturing a bit higher before throwing the winch into reverse.

8:30: After two and a half hours of retrieval, the Millibar Messenger .reappears, glowing in the evening light and swooping over the field in ghostly circles. When it finally lands, about 300 feet from its launching point, Synergy and his crew stand in silence, embarrassed by the odd beauty of it.

10:30: After packing up in the dark, the group retreats to the home of Carol and David Little, managers of Kincardine's local airstrip. Synergy is careful not to handle the Casio watches, lest he be accused of tampering. Seated at the kitchen table, he stares down at the altimeters for a long anticipatory stretch. Finally, he reads the day's highest recorded altitude out loud: 14,509 feet. He's beaten the previous record by 2,038 feet. "Is that really what it says?" he asks, blinking in disbelief. "I didn't just beat the world record, I wiped it out!"

There will be no celebrating tonight. History has bestowed itself, and that is gratification enough. All Synergy can think of is sleep. After a long hug from Carol Little, he stumbles across the parking lot toward his car, mumbling the new figures to himself.

Contrary to his master plan, life hasn't changed much for Richard Synergy since he broke the record on August 12, 2000. He sent his flight data and three independent verifications to the Guinness people in London but is still waiting to hear their verdict. He's tried to use his success to raise $250,000 for a computerized two-ton hydraulic winch—a device as big as a VW Beetle—capable of handling 200,000 feet of steel piano wire. If the money comes in, he'll load the winch on the back of a flatbed truck, drive out to Kincardine, and challenge the multi-kite record held by German weathermen who sent six kites nearly six miles high in 1919. Lastly, he paid a visit to the Alexander Graham Bell museum. "I always wanted to go there," he says, "but now I could go a hero."

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