Finding God at Seven Thousand Feet

With almost 30 years of microlight and hang glider flying experience, Edgar Ekaputra is the poster boy for alternative air sports in Indonesia. When he invited Andrew Whitmarsh to join him on a flight over West Java one Sunday morning, the American had already put on his flying goggles before he had finished his sentence.

Just looking at Edgar Ekaputra, you might think martial arts expert or George Foreman impersonator, but probably not microlight pilot.

He’s a family man, works a nine-to-five job and drives a Honda; but on the weekends, when most people are catching up on TV time, he heads to Sukabumi to unleash his inner eagle. Edgar, “a living legend” according to one Australian flying magazine, got into the sport back in his university days.

A poster hanging on a classroom wall offered skydiving and paragliding; he chose paragliding because it was cheaper. Since then he has flown thousands of hours, competed in a World Championship, won innumerous awards and is chairman of the Solo Wings Flight Club.

When asked how people react to him doing “extreme” sports, Edgar laughed and replied that microlights aren’t dangerous and shouldn’t be called extreme. “I would never bungee jump,” he claimed. “Now that’s a dangerous sport.” 

He also volleys the same two questions: Is it dangerous? Aren’t you scared? The simple answer to both is no. That’s not to say he hasn’t had a few close calls in his time, but in reality, you aren’t in much more danger than if you were to go snorkeling in the bathtub.

The Machine
A microlight, for those who don’t know, is the wings of a hang glider attached to a small, three-wheeled car powered by a jet-ski motor with a propeller. It looks like something out of Wacky Races; when you first see one and imagine yourself going up in it, it’s cause enough for nervous laughter. That being said, Edgar’s microlight, nicknamed “Bliss”, is better equipped than most Soviet-era submarines.

He has all kinds of fancy altimeters, radios, GPS devices, gauges, compasses and more – they are all to keep him safe and flying in a straight line. Contrary to what you might imagine, these craft are not the kind of things you buy in a mail-order kit and assemble with a bit of balsam wood and super glue; they range from $18,000 to $30,000 and are built to last.

As Edgar prepared for our flight, I strolled around the “Solo Wings” clubhouse located at the Lido airstrip at the Lido Lakes Resort. It’s a real man’s kind of clubhouse with oversized models of military aircraft hanging from the ceiling, lots of maps and statistical posters of altitudes, coordinates and frequencies.

A T-shirt on the wall states “Boys only dream – Men really fly”. It looked like I was going to graduate from adolescence. This isn’t really just a clubhouse, it’s Edgar’s clubhouse. Everywhere is his picture in various states of flight, or hanging out with other “Trike Freaks” as he once called himself, plus there are his medals hanging on the walls, his trophies lining the shelves and videos of him catching air.

The Adventure
I get the signal and we’re ready to take flight. I don my flight jacket and helmet, squeeze into the back seat and buckle up. Edgar radios flight control, which happens to be his buddy sitting a few meters from us on the clubhouse porch. We are cleared for takeoff, which basically means no livestock or children have strayed out onto our long, grassy runway.

One of my friends had asked me if our feet would stick through the floor so we could help with take-off but I can assure you that there is nothing Flintstones about this. Once the engine roars to life, the propeller is set in motion and brakes are released, the little bird rolls along nicely until it hits about 35 miles an hour and that’s it, you’re airborne.

Taking off is a wonderful feeling; it’s a sense of relief, freedom, and leaving it all behind. We climb steadily and I’m awed as villages unfurl before me and the sea of rice fields expands rapidly. I feel like I’m in a real-world version of Google Earth as we fly over river beds and palm plantations; the hills rise and fall before us. Before long we have crossed West Java and reached the coastal town of Pelabuhan Ratu.

We come in low and buzz the beach. Fishermen and kite-flying kids look up and point; they wave and we wave. Next we headed to Gunung Salak, an active volcano 7,254 feet tall. As we gain altitude the air gets noticeably colder and I begin to regret wearing shorts. Edgar had dressed up like he was preparing for a journey to the Artic circle and now it made sense.

We hit 7,000 feet and my teeth are chattering.  Earlier in the day, when I had asked Edgar about the emotions he felt while flying, he told me, “You really know there is a God when you are flying at 7,000 feet”. We buzzed near the peak of Salak and then rapidly dove back to warmer air and the end of the adventure. I knew he only needed the length of a football field to land. Luckily we had a bit more than that.

Did I find God that day? Well, I got a little closer to heaven.

If you are looking to grow wings and take to the skies, call or email Gerhard P Sitorus, flight instructor. He can be reached at +62 251-222-922 or solowingslido@yahoo.com

Home