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Pumping harder, Allen faced a new danger—dehydration. Sweating profusely inside his humid enclosed compartment, he drained his two-liter water bottle. His radio's batteries also wore down; Allen could hear messages through his earplugs but could not send off replies. As Albatross dipped to within 6 in. of the swells, an exhausted Allen waved in defeat at a rescue craft, signaling for a line that might have provided an airborne tow for the remaining eight miles.
Yet somehow, as he climbed 10 ft. to allow the boat's approach, he found calmer air and suddenly mustered a burst of energy. For the rest of the trip, Albatross remained well clear of the water.
Good thing: half a mile offshore MacCready spotted a sinister shape that he took to be a large shark. By the last quarter-mile, Allen said, "my legs started to get useless." He had developed painful cramps, but pedaled on. Finally, as Cap Gris-Nez loomed, he said to himself: "Doggone, I'm going to make it."
After landing to the cheers of spectators, Allen acknowledged that he could not have gone on another 10 ft. Sweat-soaked but clearly elated, he staggered out of his big bird to accept flowers and a shy kiss from a female admirer. His first words: "Wow . . . wow!"
As radio, television and newspapers told Albatross's story, the $1,600 plane was carted off to the Paris Air Show, parked among the latest multimillion-dollar marvels of aviation. An Albatross crew member called to book some hotel rooms in Paris for MacCready and company. All full up, he was told. He hung up, thought a minute, then called back: "It's for the man who just pedaled across the Channel." "Oui, m 'sieu!"came the reply. "How many rooms do you want?"