When starting to glide, 'go solo' is a phrase of holy powers, a near-impossible achievement which the weather will prevent you from ever reaching. You can imagine, dear reader, that actually to get to that day when it happens is, so to speak, rather a big deal.
As gliders are usually guarded by fire-breathing dragons wielding magic sword, and therefore impossible to steal, the biggest problem in attempting to go solo is to convince some hapless instructor that you are capable enough of doing so. If you are a person, as I assume you are, dear reader, then you will find that some days you fly like a soaring eagle and others like a slightly-more-than-usually-graceless brick, thus impressing some instructors and making others take to the hills whenever you appear. Your first task is therefore to create a favourable impression on at least one instructor. One of two methods is available: either learn how to fly a glider, or only go out on days when Venus is in the third house (at least if you're a virgo, as these days will be bring you good luck).
Having chosen your favourite method of persuasion, the next task is to pay attention, as I found to my discredit. There will come a day when the instructor will get out of the glider and stand next to it, saying words. If, like me, you don't really believe him at first, you will very stupidly have to ask whether you understood the instructor correctly when he said 'well, let's see how you get on on your own then'.
And lastly of course, just fly the thing when you do get it in the air. Some people find they need to look in the back seat just to check they are actually, really, on their own once airborn. I proudly proclaim that I did not do so! Although I did give a very loud shout to see if there was any reaction from the back. I didn't dare look over my shoulder, just in case a glider decided to teleport to some position where we would be liable to crash.