More than most anything else in life, I’ve enjoyed doing things with my family. In recent years, my daughter, Brittany, and I have had lots of great times together, many of which were unplanned. This is the story of one such adventure.
I had pretty much purged skydiving from my bucket list. But of course, one weak moment, my daughter saying, “Pleeeeeeaaaaaassssseeeeee,” and there I was.
This is a chapter from Volume 1 of my book, “Grins & Giggles.” In this book, available on my website or Amazon, you’ll find a collection of blog posts and numerous magazine and newspaper articles I have written. Some are about family. Others are about some of my adventures, many of which ended poorly. And a few are simply my observations regarding the world around us. Hope it gives you giggle or two.
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Leaping out of a plane nearly three miles up sounded like a great idea … right up until the instant when it was time to take the plunge.
Skydiving was the furthest thing from our mind as my daughter, Brittany, and I set out early on a Sunday morning headed to Red Bluff, Mississippi. Rather, our plan was to do some hiking and maybe geocache along the way. But as we drove through Lumberton, Brittany commented, “Isn’t that a landing strip?”
I glanced over, and sure enough, saw a small airport replete with parachutists landing right beside the highway. “Let’s stop and check it out,” she said.
We’ll Just Look
What’s the harm in just ‘checking it out?’ I thought, and replied, “Sure.”
A twin otter prop plane had taxied up and was refueling as we pulled into the nearly full parking lot. A stream of parachute enthusiasts were already headed for the plane, dressed in their colorful skydiving jumpsuits and wearing what at first appeared to be backpacks, but which were obviously parachutes.
We entered the tiny lobby amidst a buzz of activity. The lady who ran the front office gave us a quick overview. We could come back first thing on any Saturday or Sunday and for the low-low price of $1300, enroll in a full seven-step parachute school (otherwise known as the Accelerated Freefall Program) to become fully certified parachutists. Or for a mere $200 we could sign up for a tandem skydiving jump and defy death immediately.
Britt just “checking out” the skydiving place
The Look
While I was still attempting to digest all of this, I looked over at Britt and saw the look. It was the look I’d seen on her face before we plunged 140 feet into the Blue Hole while scuba diving in Belize. The look I’d seen before we climbed all the way up one of the pyramids in Tikal, and then again when we climbed to the top of the lighthouse in Pensacola. The look I’d seen as she climbed into a junior dragster for her first trip down the track.
So when I heard her next words, I was prepared. “Hey, Dad, let’s give it a shot.”
My mind was screaming, Are you out of your mind? Not only no, but absolutely no-the-heck-way no. But when my mouth opened, I heard myself say, “Sure, why not.” Minutes later, my credit card balance was a few hundred dollars higher, and we were being instructed on the basics of tandem jumping, which took about ninety seconds.
I mean, all of the brains and technique required are provided by the highly skilled instructor to whom we would be attached with a sturdy four-point harness. “Each point can easily support the weight of a full-sized SUV loaded with the Saints offensive line,” they told us.
We then went into the office to watch the obligatory tandem skydiving video. It consisted mainly of the father of tandem jumping (who had this enormous beard and looked like he might have once played bass for ZZ Top) sitting behind a desk with a very dour expression, relating the dangers of skydiving.
For the next several minutes he pretty much scared the crap out of us about how plummeting to earth and being severely, perhaps permanently injured, or more likely killed was well within the realm of possibility. Of course, standing beside a bunch of other guys in the testosterone-laden lobby area, there was no way that any of us were about to back out.
“Heck yeah, let’s stare the grim reaper right in the face. We’ll whip his butt,” someone said. It could have been me, but I’m just not sure, what with the testosterone high and all.
“But what about Brittany?” you might ask. My answer is that she is … how do I say this … uh … crazy. Maybe not crazy so much as she has no fear of anything. Well, okay, she has this thing about iguanas for some reason. But that aside, things that would normally scare the crap out of most young ladies, and many full-grown men, don’t faze her.
Next, we were handed a two-sided liability release form which basically reiterated the video, clearly stating that we would almost certainly die should we be foolish enough to jump, so don’t say we didn’t warn you. After initialing it in forty-seven places without reading it, the next step was to get fitted for our jumpsuits and harnesses.
Suiting Up
During the course of this phase, this tandem-jump-harness-rigger lady asked us about a dozen times if we had to pee-pee. And of course, every time she asked, it made me have to go. She finally stopped asking when it became apparent that it was going to take a day and a half for me to get fitted, what with all the bathroom trips. (I pee a lot when I get nervous.)
Once we had our jumpsuits on and our harnesses adjusted, we were instructed to go outside to wait in an area covered with a parachute-looking tarp. We were feeling pretty cocky by this time, mingling with the other skydivers. Of course, I’m sure the real Accelerated Freefallers were scoffing at the Tandem Jumpers outfitted with four-point harnesses in lieu of real parachutes. But we were excited and having a blast, looking forward to leaping out of the side of the plane nearly … nearly … uh … three miles up … gulp.
Britt and Me
We boarded the plane and sat on the straddle seats which were a long pair of bench seats running the length of the plane. We were comfortably seated all the way in the front … right behind the pilot … far from the door of death. Since all of this had happened so fast, I was happy to have plenty of time to watch the other fools … er, jumpers.
Taking the Plunge
Imagine my surprise to learn that all the rest of the jumpers— the nice folks who were shielding me from the door of death— were in a group, and leaped out of the plane at the same time so they could hold hands on the way down. That meant suddenly, we were next, and I found myself kneeling in front of the door on the edge of the plane with nothing between me and the ground but lots and lots of air. In seconds, we fell forward out of the plane and began our sixty seconds of free fall.
Britt defying death
The first thing I noticed was that it was really, really, really cold. The second thing I noticed was that at 120 mph, your cheeks flap around like my dog’s used to whenever he’d stick his head out of the car while we were driving. The third thing I noticed was that sixty seconds can seem like a very, very long time.
The fourth thing I noticed was the videographer. He kept sliding over in my face motioning for me to do something. Bound tightly to my instructor, I didn’t have much freedom of movement, so I smiled my flapping cheeks and gave a thumbs-up motion, at which time we began whirling around in circles.
I had foolishly forgotten the instructor glued to my back had told me to give him a thumbs up to signal that I was up for doing some freefall acrobatics. When we finally stopped spinning, I foolishly gave him another thumbs-up to indicate that I was okay as opposed to the more appropriate closed fist, indicating that I was about to lose my lunch. Of course, he interpreted this as my being ready to spin in the other direction, so off we went.
I tried to yell, “Noooooooo,” but with my 120-mph cheeks flapping, it came out more like, “Hfiermfaldfk,” which evidently means “spin lots faster” in sky diving language. After repeating a couple of these cycles, we had lost sufficient altitude for him to pop the chute. In about one millionth of a second, we went from 120 mph to roughly 1 mph, and everything that used to be in the top part of my body went rushing to the bottom.
Finally We Were Floating
Eventually, I recovered and managed to extract the harness straps from a very intimate part of my body as we gently floated for the next forty-five hours. No, really, for what seemed like several minutes we sailed along and I got to watch the novice idiot below us (I was getting cocky, being an experienced skydiver with a full three-fourths of a jump under my belt) get off course and land in a cow field. Ha, ha, ha.
As we began our approach, I lifted my legs as high as possible and we proceeded to do a controlled crash, in which we cartwheeled across the grassy area at the end of the landing strip. Actually, I made that part up; we cruised in just like pros (which one of us actually was) and came to a complete stop, at which time we fell over sideways in a slightly less than graceful motion. But we were on the ground safe and sound, not splattered and lying in little pieces as I had feared.
In summary, falling at 120 mph is exhilarating, incredible, but most of all terrifying. My advice to anyone who wants to give it a try: wear a brown flight suit.
To see the full, terrifying video, go to:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sxUemgeubsg
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