| My Fleet | Whoop, 3,5", 7" |
| DVR | https://makertube.net/c/fpv_freestyle/videos |
First spring flight. Hands still freezing on the sticks, but the air already feels different. Birds watching the little 3.5” drone like it’s some strange new creature in their sky.
The flying was a bit stiff, like the winter is still holding on to the fingers. Ice still around, cold still in the ground. But the props are spinning again, and that’s enough to start melting the season.
In our city, a public drone arena just spawned, rebuilt from an old trolleybus depot, now rewritten with neon gates and sliced-open trolleybuses. Like someone unlocked a new level in the urban simulation.
We flew between metal skeletons, taming the gates, learning the space the hard way. The trolley wires still whispered into our signals, the unheated hangar held its cold like a grudge, but the props kept drawing geometry in the air.
Went to my friend’s cabin. We flew in the cold, battling wind and darkness, while the dog guarded the gates and made sure we didn’t run the track too cleanly.
Found a DIY downhill track hidden in the forest. Looked perfect for ripping, but reality hit fast. My 3.5” struggled with tight lines and too many branches grounding it. Broke a few 3D-printed parts and switched to the whoop. Better, but luck wasn’t on my side. Resoldered motor wires three times, and most batteries were half-dead. Maybe the cold, maybe the full moon, or just poor care. I’ll be back, better prepared, or with a new drone.
A mysterious wall appeared in the middle of the gallery. Whoops approved, while the VTX signals battled for dominance.
Flying through corridors with the whoops. The gates revealed themselves as mysterious objects and chaos was mandatory.
Crash landed at a forest festival, documented the swamp’s lost souls before the static took over.
Whooping the old factory. Half the DVR vanished into static.
Broadcasting my secret base through the lens of analog noise and ghost signals.
One last dance in the hangar bando before the walls forget us.
