In recent years, my idea of "living dangerously" could be best exemplified by seeing just how low my gas gauge can actually go before I run out of fuel. While this is a fun game to play (Mainly since I haven't actually been stranded on the roadside yet), it is not something to brag about. There is a line in the movie, The Shawshank Redemption, "Get busy living or get busy dying", and it is time for me to start living a bit. So, yesterday while Lori was busy, I made a reservation to go jump out of a plane. I didn't want Lori to worry so I explained that I would have to work Saturday morning to complete a training project (Well, it was partly true, except the work part). A part of me also didn't want her to know in case I chickened out and couldn't go through with it. After all, I am a guy who is not overly fond of flying in airplanes, never mind hopping out the door into open air.
I found Bay Area Skydiving pretty easily and hung around out front because I was an hour early. There was a black labrador out front and I tried to make friends, but he was having none of it. I think he was enjoying himself actually. I would come up close, pet him, and then sit down before he would decide to get up and walk away. We repeated this a few times before I caught on to his game. About this time, one of the instructors asked if I was there for the jump. I responded that I was, but that I wasn't scheduled to go up until 10 AM (It was only 9 AM). He said I could go ahead and sign in and do the earlier jump. Cool, less time to think about what I was about to do and get cold feet.
At the front desk, I selected the video package and hoped I would be around to pay my bill. It's not every day that you get to wish for that! They handed me a stack of paperwork and sat me down on a rough looking couch to watch a video on the DANGERS and excitement of skydiving. As I reviewed all of the releases and disclaimers in the hanger, I did have a moment's pause about my decision not to tell Lori where I was...oh wait, there is an "Emergency Contact" section - problem solved. Actually I have a trick that I have learned for situations like this. As I mentioned before, I hate flying but I find that if I can envision myself arriving at my destination, the anxiety is lowered significantly. Mentally I feel that this guarantees that I will arrive safe because I have already "seen" it. I applied the same trick here and pictured myself arriving home afterwards and telling Lori what I had really been up to...and her not being mad at me.
After what seemed like a long time, tick-tock, tick-tock, (If these are the last moments of my life, I should probably try to enjoy them), I met my jump instructor, to whom I would be firmly attached throughout the jump, hopefully. His name was Torsten and it didn't take more than a few words to ascertain that he was from Germany. In fact, most of the people in the hanger seemed to be from Germany. He showed me where to drop off any loose items that I had in my pockets and handed me a jumpsuit. It was a little tighter than I had expected, having seen jumpers on TV and in movies with billowy suits. Next, he walked me through the hand signals and expected responses for our jump. He said that there would be no way for me to hear him once we jumped, so we rehearsed these until he was convinced I wouldn't make an ass of myself, or kill us both. Before we walked to the plane he asked me not to inquire of him what the jump would be like because there would be no way for him to describe the first jump and I would just have to do it.
The plane was pretty sturdy looking with two bench seats running lengthwise. With Torsten now strapped to my back, we climbed in and "butt-walked/scooted" our way to the front of the plane. We were in the last jump position. Another four tandem jumpers boarded along with the camera men who would be filming our jumps. By the time everyone was on board it was a tight fit, and when the pilot started taxiing, I was not sure if we would get off the ground.
Luck was in the air, literally, and we were soon airborne and climbing. In what was probably a well choreographed routine to keep people from getting freaked out, there was a lot of joking around. Torsten claimed it was his birthday and I have no reason to not believe him, so he asked me to sing Happy Birthday. Little did he know that this would give me a chance to cross that challenge off my list so I was up for it. Fortunately, most of the other jumpers joined it after the first few lines. Having failed to faze me with that, Torsten ramped things up a bit and told me if I didn't agree to marry him, he couldn't guarantee our harness would work. Now, this type of homophobic stuff might get a rise out of some jumpers, but not me. When you spend months on a submarine under water with 140 other guys this type of ribbing is common. People are always trying to find what your buttons are and push them remorselessly. I never gave them the satisfaction there and I wasn't going to let Torsten get me now. That, and the fact that his wife was sitting next to us the whole time, kinda ruined his fun.
Looking over my shoulder and past Torsten, I kept an eye on the altimeter. The ride was choppy and noisy, but I really didn't mind. I think my phobia about flying is really about not being in control and probably some trust issues, but I didn't feel that here since I could see what was going on. And maybe the fact that I had a parachute made a difference too! I wonder what TSA would say if I showed up for my next flight with my own chute. Probably best that I don't find out.
Jump altitude came at 13,000 feet and the camera men climbed out and held on to a rail at the top of the door so that they could film the jumpers exiting. It was strange to see them "flying" along outside the plane. As the respective jump pairs shuffled down the bench and exited the plane, the moment of truth loomed with urgency. We made our way to the door and I took my position with my feet out the door and my head back. Torsten had placed a pair of glasses on my head earlier and it was time to put them over my eyes.
With a slight push from behind the floor dropped out from underneath my butt and we were falling...fast. "Geronimo"...how cliché! Torsten was right in that it is impossible to properly describe a first jump. For one thing, your mind is suddenly trying to make sense of a feeling that is immensely foreign while at the same time experiencing a degree of shock at what your brain must perceive as an extreme threat. That sums up the first second or two, which is at best a blur. After that, without any frame of reference in the mental archives, the threat sensors switch off and I became very aware of everything. The ground seemed so far away and more barren and brown than I would have imagined. My face was the most aware of the speed as I could feel my skin undulating as it was whipped and pelted by the wind. Hmm, for some reason my throat is sore. I realized that I was doing a bunch of macho "ya-hoos" and that doing so was rapidly drying out my sinuses. At this point in free-fall, we were probably going 120 miles an hour and my open mouth was effectively ventilating my throat and sinus cavities. Having demonstrates a macho yell instead of a girly scream, it was time to shut my mouth.
After what seemed like a long time, I could finally get a sense of the ground coming closer. I watched as the cameramen floated around below and to the side getting their shots and felt obliged to yell again and do the old "heavy metal devil horns" with my hands. How original! All of my senses, except smell, were in overload and I was not immediately aware of the cute having deployed. A firm pressure in the groin accompanied the canopy inflating. This is probably the only time I can think of where any sudden pressure to the groin is a welcome thing, but it was a good sign that I would survive this intact and not as a bloody impact crater. Lori would be happy.
Torsten had promised to give me all I could handle in our jump and, now that I could hear him again, he instructed me to pull on the right handle and then the left to get a feel for the steering capability of the parachute. The steering was a lot more responsive than I had imagined. He then told me to pull the right handle hard and hold it as long as I felt I could handle it. Immediately after pulling, I could feel G-forces. We were now almost sideways in a tight spiral and picking up speed. As the world below me spun rapidly, I could see that we were passing other jumpers who had exited the plane before us. Relaxing the right handle, I pulled the left and began "unwinding". Soon, Torsten tapped me to relax both handles and let go.
During the last few hundred feet, the ability to discern the rate at which the ground is rushing up to meet you is suddenly enhanced. Landing was imminent and, with Torsten at the controls, we glided and flared prior to stepping back on terra firma. With only a minor stumble (I will blame the center of gravity being off, yeah that's it), the adventure was over. I unhooked from Torsten and rolled up the chute that had literally just saved my life. Man, it feels flimsy! In a moment that seemed to be cut straight from a Super Bowl commercial, I was asked what I wanted to tell my friends and family now that I had survived jumping from a perfectly good airplane: "Go to Bay Area Skydiving!" (bayareaskydiving.com; Ask for Torsten).
The whole experience was so surreal that on the drive home it hardly seemed possible that I had just done it. The only proof I had was my hands which were shaking from the adrenalin coursing through my veins, and an unexplainable inclination to drive fast. Fortunately I was in the Hyundai so there was little risk of that happening.
After the adrenaline surge subsided, I called Lori to let her know I was on my way home. I put on my "frustrated to have had to work on a Saturday" voice so as not to blow my ruse and I think I was pretty convincing. Since I had another thirty-five minutes to drive, I called my parents to tell them what I had been up to. There is a scene in the National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation movie where Clark Griswold says, "If I woke up tomorrow with my head sewn to the carpet, I wouldn't be more surprised that I am right now!" I think that sums up my mom's reaction.
Pulling up into the drive way, I made sure to get into character again. Coming through the door, I found Lori downstairs doing laundry. Sounding generally peeved, I asked if she would like to see the video project I had been slaving over. Being a good wife, she said, "Yes", although her acting was not nearly as well honed as mine (I could tell she could care less). I cued up my jump video and pushed play after she had made her way to the couch (Like I said, she wasn't that eager to even leave her laundry for this).
The camera panned from my feet to my head and Lori wondered aloud what the heck my attire had to do with work training. She really doesn't understand what I do (To paraphrase the old 7-Up adds, "Never has, never will), but this definitely did not make sense. Seeing me walking to the plane, it finally dawned on her that this was not a training video in the sense that she thought it was. I was wary of objects being tossed at the back of my head, but was pleasantly surprised to see that she was excited and not angry at me.
And so it was that my skydiving adventure came to a close. Would I do it again? Definitely, the rush is unlike anything I have ever felt before. If I do, though, it would be as part of pursuing a jump certification. Nothing personal Torsten, but I would love to someday describe my first solo jump.
