... wind ....

too windy to fish this am ..... looks like a lot of
cold air "spilling" over the rockies and out onto the
plains this am.......

-------snip--------------------------
Here is a list of wind speeds clocked throughout the front range:
Berthoud - 94 mph
Highway 93 & Highway 128 - 92 mph
JeffCo Airport - 90 mph
Longmont - 64 mph
Eldorado Springs - 98 mph
Boulder - 88 mph
Evergreen - 73 mph
Kenosha Pass - 95 mph

----------------------------------------------

"~^ beancounter ~^" wrote in message
oups.com...
too windy to fish this am ..... looks like a lot of
cold air "spilling" over the rockies and out onto the
plains this am.......

-------snip--------------------------
Here is a list of wind speeds clocked throughout the front range:
Berthoud - 94 mph
Highway 93 & Highway 128 - 92 mph
JeffCo Airport - 90 mph
Longmont - 64 mph
Eldorado Springs - 98 mph
Boulder - 88 mph
Evergreen - 73 mph
Kenosha Pass - 95 mph

Eh? I grew up in Kenosha, WI. Never expected to encounter that name
anywhere else.

By the way, is it safe to assume those wind speed figures are occasional
gusts rather than sustained?

Wolfgang

yes, they are peak readings...i live in the Berthoud area...we had
peaks of 94mph and steady 75-85 for a few hrs.....the radio station guy
saw a dude launch a kite down in Boulder.......It broke in half and
disapeared fast....

"~^ beancounter ~^" wrote in message
oups.com...
yes, they are peak readings...i live in the Berthoud area...we had
peaks of 94mph and steady 75-85 for a few hrs.....

Well, even 75-85 is a pretty stiff breeze. Y'all keep an eye on those
levies.

the radio station guy
saw a dude launch a kite down in Boulder.......It broke in half and
disapeared fast....

I did a good bit of research on kites a couple of months ago, in the hope of
building and flying some of my own. I don't recall seeing anything rated
for those conditions. Hope springs eternal, I guess.

Wolfgang

I did a good bit of research on kites a couple of months ago, in the hope
of building and flying some of my own. I don't recall seeing anything
rated for those conditions. Hope springs eternal, I guess.

I used to fly competitive dual-control kites. There are kites that are
rated for those kind of wind speeds. They're called streamers. :-)

When I was younger, I really enjoyed flying my kites on the beach at Seaside
in California. I had a big kite called a Hawaiian that was a huge
dual-control delta wing, 1.5 meters tall and 3 meters across the bottom. It
had so much surface that I could launch it in a 5 mph wind and with an
offshore breeze, put a wingtip in the water kick up a rooster tail. At one
time, it was radar clocked over 90 mph.
One day, I went down to the beach and found it empty save my kite-flying
mentor Carey. The wind was coming onshore at about 35-45 mph. Carey was
sitting on top of a dune in his tuxedo jacket and tails and hot pink shorts.
His long blond, trending to grey pony tail flapping in the wind.
Cool, I've got the whole beach to myself. I lay the kite down on the dune,
pushing the bottom slightly into the sand. I rolled out the twin lines,
hooked up the kite on one end and the wrist straps on the other. Slid my
hands through the straps, squatted slightly and pull the lines, bringing the
kite upright. Then, elbows at my side, I gave just a quick tug, launching
the kite.
The kite went straight up, I glanced over at Carey. Carey wrapped his arms
around his knees and leaned forward in anticipation. Of what, I didn't
know. He had taught me to fly kites so knew what I was going to do.
As I said, the kite went straight up. Normally, it will get to the top,
reduce the angle of attack and then you start steering it from there.
That's normally. Normally is flying a Hawaiian in a 7-15 mph wind. If
you're especially daring and have a bunch of mass (i.e. over 200 lbs), you
might fly it in an 18 to 20 mph wind. Weighing 125 lbs and flying a
Hawaiian in a 35 mph wind is contraindicated in the instructions that hit
the garbage, unread and unloved, along with the plastic wrap from the Kevlar
lines.
The black, red and gold kite continued to rise. 60, 70 then 80 feet off the
ground... I had only 100' feet of line. The kite is now at 90 feet and
climbing. The straps have tightened around my wrists like a Chinese finger
trap. My feet have left the ground. I'm flying.
I'm now the weight in a perverted human pendulum. The kite climbs higher and
I'm 20, 30 now 40 feet off the ground and swinging forward. I now see that
things are going from bad to worse. If I don't release soon, I'll either
fly too high and drop to my death or, if I don't get that high, I'll be
dragged across Hwy 101. My scream is torn from my throat. I'm directly
under the kite, the kite's angle of attack is neutralized and I slam into
the sand like the Great American Hero on his first day in the Super Suit.
I'm down, the wind knocked out of me, but down. Oh ****, I'm still moving.
I've become a human sled. Up the top of the dune and roll, slide down the
far side. My wrists are still locked in the straps, the kite is pulling
ever forward. There is no fence between me and the highway and the Saturday
morning tourist traffic. I'm actually faster. I realize that my struggles
to release from the wrist straps have turned the kite. It's now going
parallel to the ground, increasing its pull and speed.
There's a log in the sand about 40 feet ahead of me. I angle the kite so it
will drag me to the log. Maybe I can grab it. 35, 30, 25.. The sand is
abrading my stomach, filling my pants. My eyes are mere slits and I'm
spitting sand castles. I look at the log for a place to grab.. Oh ****.
Its not a log. Its the rotting carcass of a sea lion. A cloud of flies
fills the air and the stench fights its way up my nose, against the wind.
I pull in my right arm and rub the wrist strap off against my shoulder, my
elbows digging twin furrows in the sand. Wham, the right strap releases and
the kite tries to dislocate my left. With out the balanced control lines,
the kite spins its death spiral into the ground somewhere over the highway.
The wind of a passing truck whips past me. I've stopped, 15 feet from the
road and two feet from the corpse.
I take off the other wrist strap and stand up. Carey is standing there
besides me. Laughing like a hyena. I look and my kite has made it to the
other side of the highway. There's almost 150 feet of drag marks and I've
gone more than 250 feet from where I started.
I ask Carey why he didn't stop me. He knew what was going to happen.
"Man, sometimes you have to learn from the experience. You have to
experience to have a life. 'Sides, it was a hell of a show."

--
Frank Reid
Reverse email to reply

damm Frank....now thats what i call kite flyin'.....
"become one withe the kite", ea?

"Frank Reid" I ask Carey why he didn't stop me. He knew what was going to
happen.
"Man, sometimes you have to learn from the experience. You have to
experience to have a life. 'Sides, it was a hell of a show."

--
Frank Reid
Reverse email to reply


\
There's a kite shop here in town where I've bought a couple of kites. Most
of there stuff is highly decorative...ore extreme, just like what you are
talking about. They have some really cool pics on the wall..

john

Amazing post.
Dave

Winds can be amazing. I live on a hill above a passage that is a funnel for
wind that starts in flats between the south end of the Olympic Mountains and
the hills of Weyerhauserland. I got one of those wind gages you put on
sailboats, and it blew apart in a steady 70+ gusting to just over 90mph. The
oldest part of the house acts as a prow into the wind and will flex in
particularly heavy storms. The rain and the salt-wind environment make it a
hard place to maintain but a wonderful perch from which to marvel at the
power of weather. Sometimes on a stormy night I drift off into a fitful
dream: Im piloting a Port Blakely built ship down the coast, Cape
Foulweather to Cape Fairweather and on to San Francisco with a load of fresh
timber. Wonderful things dreams.

Dave
Who in the real world gets seasick easy.

Frank Reid wrote:

...................
....... I look at the log for a place to grab.. Oh ****.
Its not a log. Its the rotting carcass of a sea lion. A cloud of flies
fills the air and the stench fights its way up my nose, against the wind.
I pull in my right arm and rub the wrist strap off against my shoulder, my
elbows digging twin furrows in the sand. Wham, the right strap releases and
the kite tries to dislocate my left. With out the balanced control lines,
the kite spins its death spiral into the ground somewhere over the highway.
The wind of a passing truck whips past me. I've stopped, 15 feet from the
road and two feet from the corpse.

But of course. We would have expected nothing less. g

That you haven't died several times over by now, Frank, is nothing short
of an effing miracle.