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Surely most readers are familiar with “the $100 hamburger”—that wry metaphor for the pilot’s inevitable question: What’s next?
This isn’t aimed at the fortunate few whose flying futures are mapped out. It’s for the wannabe aviators I once was. Military and airline flying were closed to me due to poor eyesight; agricultural flying was off-limits thanks to my ignorance. The post-license paths I saw were simple: either chase the elusive $100 hamburger, or—more expensively—try aerobatics. (I was young, the internet didn’t exist, and I grew up in the sticks.)
Circumstances, however, had other plans—thanks to my first post-college office-mate. He was both a power pilot and a glider pilot, and I didn’t even know gliders existed. He towed for the local club and owned a high-performance sailplane. His description made gliding seem far cheaper than power flying—a forced choice for a broke new graduate.
Eight years later, a friend and I went halves on a well-worn Cessna 150. He missed his old Aeronca Champ cross-country freedom; I, as a glider pilot, was curious. Despite soloing and passing the written, I never obtained a power rating—finding a VOR examiner proved impossible at the time. And the $100 hamburger? That question never arose, thanks to gliding.
By then, I owned a very used sailplane and had learned to fly safely cross-country. Thirty-seven years later, health concerns prompted me to pull the plug on active flying. The decision was straightforward, yet difficult. Reflecting on my journey, I realized something intriguing: the $100 hamburger never appeared.
Why not? In one word: engagement.
Boredom creates the need for the $100 hamburger. Power pilots often have to invent ways to stay mentally engaged: mastering autopilot, interpreting en-route weather, practicing precision maneuvers, honing navigation skills, flying patterns and go-arounds, upset training, aerobatics, IFR practice, and so on. These exercises are about keeping the mind occupied and the skills sharp—they are less about “having fun” and more about avoiding the tedium of aimless flight.
Power pilots often have to invent ways to stay mentally engaged.
VFR cross-country flying in a sailplane, however, automatically provides engagement—without inventing it. The only exception is practicing go-arounds, which I only needed once (a story for another time). Beyond that, everything a glider pilot needs to do to stay safe—finding lift, planning a route, judging energy, avoiding other gliders—requires constant attention.
Consider cross-country soaring: precision begins with the aerotow, a form of formation flying that can challenge even ex-military pilots. After release, the pilot must continually locate and exploit lift. If you fail to find lift, you land—often unexpectedly. Questions fill the mind constantly: Where is the next thermal? What is the glider’s optimal speed and bank to maximize climb? Which other pilots are in “my lift”? Are weather or terrain factors going to interfere? Each decision requires focus, strategy, and situational awareness.
Even landings demand precision. Off-field landings are common in soaring, and they require identifying suitable terrain, judging pattern height, avoiding obstacles, and executing an accurate, low-energy touchdown. The actual landing is often the simplest part; the mental preparation and disciplined execution are what make it challenging. Fortunately, most off-field encounters—meeting property owners after an unplanned landing—have been friendly, often humorous, and occasionally educational.
Soaring is conceptually simple: find lift, stay in it, convert it into altitude, glide to the next source, and repeat. Yet the discipline it requires engages the mind fully, turning every cross-country flight—whether nine hours long or only one—into a rewarding mental and physical exercise. Over time, as skills develop and conditions improve, there is also the joy of simply absorbing the scenery and the sensation of flying. This mental balance between engagement and enjoyment is one of the great rewards of soaring.
Did I miss not encountering the $100 hamburger? Absolutely not. In fact, there were additional rewards—like occasionally buying dinner for the volunteer retrieve crews who chased my sailplane across the countryside. That, too, became a cherished part of the experience.
The $100 hamburger may have a place for power pilots seeking a destination or a purpose beyond aimless flight. But in soaring, engagement and challenge come naturally, filling the sky with endless opportunity—and no hamburger required.
- $100 Hamburger Reflections - February 4, 2026
- What all pilots can learn from glider flying - September 29, 2016
Were the article about what’s cool about soaring, I’d get behind it. Instead, it seems to be claiming that soaring is better than the “boring” everything else in light aviation. To that, I say BS. I love flying sailplanes. I love(d) flying my Mooneys. Bored, never. Hooking a good flight-saving thermal is certainly not boring, but neither is nailing an ILS approach in IMC. Beyond the high points, try flying the perfect flight. It takes engagement to do that regardless of destination. Boredom, excepting perhaps those who fly a zillion similar hours per year, is a choice and a rather lazy one. Me, I like flying for the $100 burger with friends. Does that imply I’m bored with my other flying? Nope. Though admittedly, I sometimes cheat by going there under power and trying to make it back engine-off in my touring motorglider, lol.
Boredom creates the need for the $100 hamburger? I think not. I am never bored flying. Going for a “hamburger” is never the goal for a flight. It can be a reason to bring friends, or it is a convenient place to stop on a cross Country. A place to meet friends from other airports or to share a coffee.
But Boredom? Never!
As the author noted: “Over time, as skills develop and conditions improve, there is also the joy of simply absorbing the scenery and the sensation of flying. This mental balance between engagement and enjoyment is one of the great rewards of _soaring_. I would easily replace the word soaring, with “flying”. The statement applies to the whole of Flying, no matter what you are flying.
The author clearly loves his chosen form of flying, which is soaring. I would argue that I get the same mental challenges and enjoyment from flying in the mountains, the Back Country, and the river bars. Where even landings demand precision ;)
Your article was a good read, Robert. Would like to hear some war stories from the glider experiences because I am sure they abound. Curious about your own thoughts and processes for making the choices in the air, and on the ground. Scientific (‘numbers’) only or your own artistic twist?
Maybe I’m alone here but the “what’s next?” concept behind the $100 Hamburger has escaped me during my years around flying. In my mind, the term represented an excuse to go fly somewhere for the sheer sake of being able to do that. Spending some money in process is just a part of it that cannot be avoided. No one ever has told me it means “What’s next?” You’re the first. Congratulations! So, here we go. More questions than answers . . .
As a powered fixed wing pilot, single and multi, I don’t get bored. There are landscapes and structures, rivers and forests, roads and power lines, clouds and sunrays, birds where you least expect them, and more to keep a curious mind entertained, learning and absorbing. Not to mention, unfortunately foremost, there are just too many ways to get hurt in an airplane, and too many people doing it. Have watched one too many of the aviation self promoting influencers who report tragedies on a daily basis. Need I say more? Therefore, the majority of my time in the air is spent doing the things necessary, which include constant scanning and planning for the what if: like what if I have to put this rig down. Which is what I see a glider pilot doing, but differently. A blessing to you is elimination of a huge worry of single engine and multi engine pilots: the worry and fear of a power loss. Can it be this absence frees your mind to make other calculations during flight in a better way? (Free up some RAM!) I believe this has some validity. The powered pilot is forced to carry this extra burden in her and his backpack. Weight makes you as a person slower. Weight wears you out. Maybe I am wrong. Or does the absence of power mean the entire flight is even more intense and focused on the impending landing, either on target or off. Maybe it’s a little of both. Or alot.
Guess it’s time for me to explore this first hand. And do some first hand research on this hamburger concept. Maybe at the 57th Fighter Group restaurant at PDK and the Downwind Club. A good start.
Years ago I used to fly up to lake lawn lodge, tie down the aircraft, and walk into the facilities across the street for the fantastic lunch that they served. In Wisconsin. However, the lodge changed hands, and the runway fell into disrepair. To this day I don’t know when or even if said lodge will do anything about it. But it was quite dicey and poor the last time I used it.