The last flight I had in competition — in 1956, at the international contest in France that I won — I got in circumstances where whether I survived or didn’t just was a flip of the coin, whether the turbulence went that way, or that way. Because I was down in a valley from which there was no way out, with huge turbulence buffeting you, like a little chip of wood in a frothing surf. I didn’t like that. Also, some of the flying, there are often many sailplanes all in the same thermal, with people not watching out properly. I found other people willing to take many more chances than I would. Two sailplanes would be willing to go into the same small cloud at the same time, things like that. I began figuring this wasn’t the sport for me. I did some dumber things after that, but never with the intention of them being dangerous.