The seed was planted in summer 1991 in Syracuse.
We were bunch undergrads on a National Science Foundation grand. We tossed around spending ideas now we had a steady income for the first time. Physics and CS majors in their early 20’s had difficulties thinking beyond the stereotypicals: electronics, gambling, pornography, and violence. An English major smoking pot was listening to us geeks. “Why don’t you jump out of an airplane or something?”
I had a conflict and couldn’t participate but remembered my summer friends’ exuberance after the experience. Aerodynamics of parachute is a miracle regardless of your physics Achievement score.
Decades later, Gordon S forwarded me a Groupon. All I had to do were paying $140 and showing up.
The actual act is disproportionally shorter than foreplay.
? 1-hour drive during non traffic hours to Skydive Dallas.
? Read and sign 3 sets of paperwork declaring I really really really won’t sue if I die.
? 5 mins of video of a guy reading a Cliff Note version of those 3 sets of paper.
? 15 min of instructional video explaining how to correctly acting like a deadweight.
? Practice 2 moves: arch back, lift legs.
? Watch other people jump out of plane. Make small talks.
? Wait a long time.
? Watch more people jump out of plane. Make small talks.
? Put on suit.
? Put on harness overly tight.
? Unsuccessfully request a less hairy instructor with lower penis count.
? Walk funny to avoid rope burn.
? Wait a long time.
? Get on plane with bunch crazies who can’t wait to jump out of a perfectly good airplane.
? Plane takes off. Wait a long time before reaching altitude while Dave hairy guy makes the harness tighter.
The overhead dominated process reminded me of golf except packing the golf bag correctly was slightly less critical. Even though the pilot and I were the only ones not directly carrying a parachute, everyone used his seatbelt.
Dave obsessively checked our harnesses as if preventing a prisoner’s escape. He repeated the same instructions making sure I was conscious. Oprah would’ve praised his willingness to communicate in a relationship. I inquired about # of his clients defecated in their pants. To my relief and disappointment, it turned out such act took more muscle contractions than a petrified human was capable of utilize. “Quite a few threw up after landing…. Except one girl passed out in the air, and I had to bring her to the ground like a log.”
Divers knew exactly what to do. The door opened when reached the altitude. They maneuvered toward outside, hanged on to the plane like ninjas, then let go. Their faces seemed to light up. Looked like fun.
I wasn’t allowed the cool dangling in the air move.
Dave made me move cowardly with arms folded covering my non-exposing nipples. There was no jumping out of the plane. I was shoved out by my 180-lb hairy backpack. I noticed I was going the wrong way the moment the fall started. Somehow Dave determined I could use more excitement than the model student in the instructional video. It wasn’t difficult to locate the ground but was hard to find Gordon. Gordon’s camera found me. We linked hands. I tried to say something sophomoric into the camera; syllables got blown away by the wind. We did a few spins. I was a bit disoriented. The view was wonderful. I had no urge for new-underwear-requiring activities.
I felt sudden rope burns developing. No need to look up. The chute opened—not nearly as exciting as free fall. There was nothing to do but relax and enjoy. Communication by air vibration was viable at this speed. Dave pointed out Red River and Oklahoma using his hairy right index finger.
After the soft landing, Dave praised my ability to lift legs. He was also pleased that I didn’t’ leak. I hadn’t had bars set so low for over 3 decades.
Every blade of grass smiled and welcomed me back on this sunny windy day. It was a fun ride.
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