Durand, speaking to his video camera, made a painful peace: “He’s going to get me by a little bit.”

The Journey Ends

As they glided toward the earth, details that had been lost for the better part of the day re-emerged one by one. Patches of green revealed individual trees, trees revealed leaves. They crossed over some cliffs and above an expanse of farmland, a welcome sight for pilots looking for a place to land.

Durand, no longer concerned about going as far as he could, lined up his landing along a road so he could be picked up easily. He skimmed low over a dry field, approaching a farmhouse shaded by a cluster of trees. He unzipped his harness, feeling a sense of relief as his feet dropped under him. He turned into the wind to come to a gentle stop.

He had flown more than 472 miles, or about the distance from New York to Detroit. So far, in fact, that the sun was setting as he landed, 26 minutes later than it had in Zapata. The flight would have taken about an hour in a commercial plane; by hang glider, it had taken nearly 11 hours.

As soon as his feet reunited with the ground, Durand sent a message from his flight tracker that was seen by people watching the final moments online around the world: “I just landed and would like a margarita.”

Martin had taken his chances, putting the wind squarely at his back to gain as much extra mileage as possible. He no longer had any fears about where to land. He just wanted to keep flying.

Later, after he had landed three miles farther, near the small town of Lorenzo, the two men had an awkward reunion, full of celebration and freighted humor that continued during the 12-hour drive back to Zapata. Durand remained there for a couple of more weeks, cultivating a list of excuses for his second-place showing as he tried again and again to break the record. Martin left as soon as he had submitted the paperwork for the record book.

But in his final airborne moments, Martin was in no hurry for the ground to resume its claim on him. The sun was disappearing beneath the horizon, and the moon had already emerged. There was no euphoria, no exhaustion befitting the conclusion of an epic race. Just the quiet contentment of a man in his element, savoring the end of the longest flight of its kind ever made — cheeks in the wind, like a bird.