My spectacular day of high-flying adventure began just like any other, except that I had to get up unbearably early and then drive to Durham to pick up a friend of mine. So it began in a very unique manner. (I apologize; sometimes those clichés don’t work out as well as you want them too.) I waited outside my friend Sheena’s house in Durham for 10 minutes longer than I expected to, and then decided to give up on her. She wasn’t answering her phone and I had no idea which house was hers. Her loss. Then I began the drive back to Raleigh, eagerly racking my brain for as many Japanese and/or women jokes as could be made to apply. (Which are her ethnicity and gender respectively.)
I arrived at my Cousin Meredith’s house and proceeded to awkwardly putter around her yard, uncertain that it was in fact her house, and discomforted by the unfamiliar old people on the lawn. It was her birthday, and we were going to go jump out of a plane to celebrate, which sounds a little unorthodox now that I think about it that way. I uncomfortably walked back and forth to my car a couple of times, anxiously debating with myself about just sitting in the car and texting Meredith, but that seemed silly so I slowly made my way up to the house. I wanted to make contact with someone in the family I knew before I became acquainted with the strangers on the grass, so I continued to walk back and forth glancing around and working my way up to the door, like a hiker working his way up through switchback after switchback, keeping an eye out for bears and anxiously waiting to get to the top of the mountain so he’ll stop feeling so uncomfortable and finally get a pee break.
Right before I arrived at the door, my cousin and her entire family burst out onto the front porch at once. I breathed a sigh of relief and struggled to quickly rebuild my composure with whatever dignity I had left over and disguise the awkward impression the day had left on me thus far. I discovered that the unfamiliar people on the lawn were relatives who were here to celebrate Meredith’s birthday by watching her fall out of the sky. Also unorthodox, and almost a little morbid. Fortunately they hadn’t taken much notice of me and my awkward advances on the street and towards the house, and if they had they were willing to forget about them.
By then it was time to go, so we loaded into several cars. I was riding with Meredith, my other cousins Kevin and Christopher, and Meredith’s friend Zach. After some miscommunication about transportation and a subsequent brief detour chasing Zach to Wendy’s, we were ready to get on the road to Louisburg. We mostly slept, listened to weird music, and talked about flipping out of planes.
We arrived at Triangle Skydiving, excitedly apprehensive about the day to come. The energy level stayed high after our arrival, as we jumped feet first into preparation for our bigger jump. This is sarcastic but I didn’t manage to communicate that very well. We eagerly and enthusiastically received our piles of paperwork and listened attentively as they told us to sign everything that looked like a line. While we were filling every available blank space on these pages with our signatures, the staff played an instructional video for us. The video consisted of a timid-looking man sitting behind a desk and talking at us. He wore a suit and sported an impressive and unnaturally homeless-looking scraggly beard. He told us that we were to jump out of an airplane, that jumping out of airplanes is fun, and that jumping out of moving aerial vehicles 2.5 miles above the Earth’s surface comes with a few risks.
Once we had completed this unusual orientation, we were allowed to go sit and wait. We did a little sunbathing, watched people fall out of the sky, went to Bojangles, discussed the various Asian countries Zach has trips planned to, ate Bojangles, discussed the philosophical value of Forrest Gump, examined Kevin’s critique of aphoristic analogies regarding life and sometimes chocolate, watched more people fall out of the sky, drank Mountain Dew, threw a Frisbee around, and evaluated Christopher’s unusual hair style. When it was finally time for us to strap up and file into a plane, however, a cloud suddenly appeared above our heads and our flight was postponed, because apparently they prefer to be able to see the ground when they’re falling towards it at speeds upwards of 130 mph.
We didn’t know when they’d let us go, but we were next, so they went ahead and got us suited up. We each met the professional who was going to be tied uncomfortably close to us for the jump, and it almost felt like we were kids from troubled homes being paired up with big street-wise adults who were to be role models for us, but I think that was because of my particular instructor/parachute-puller/professional skydiver/designated keep-Michael-alive-er. I hope that made sense.
Deep breath. Now come up with a title for the person who jumps with you. Got it Michael? Good.
My survival assistant was a huge, intimidating, very nice man named David. It was a weird way to meet someone though, because you’re constantly thinking: “THIS MAN IS RESPONSIBLE FOR MY LIFE.” So to drown out the voice in my head I had to shout my way through our get-to-know-you conversation, which by the way, was awkwardly carried on while he guided me through all the numerous switches, latches, locks, Velcro straps, flaps, bells, and whistles that were built to keep me attached to him and him attached to a bag and the bag attached to a parachute. It was a lot. Then he told me everything I needed to know about how to jump out of a plane and how to fall and how to pilot the parachute. Then he told me I could unclench my teeth and relax, because it was fine if I didn’t remember all of it.
Then it started raining, which is also frowned upon when you’re jumping out of a plane it seems. So we hung out in the crowded hangar and ate cold Bojangles while we waited.
About an hour later, the rain rain went away, probably to come again another day, and the beautiful bright sun returned. (Did you know Breaking Benjamin have a song called Rain inspired by nursery rhymes? That’s ridiculous.)
Once the weather had cleared, we were called back to meet up with our survival assistants again. They tightened about 20 different straps I didn’t know we had, went back over how we’re actually supposed to jump, and then brought us to the plane. We had to duck down and file in, sitting in awkward rows on two benches that led up to the door. There were about 8-10 pairs and then a few people just sitting by the door. These few kept making crazy eyes at David and I, so I was unsure of their sanity. Once plenty of inside jokes and taunts had been tossed around, the plane started moving. There were 5 of our group actually jumping: Meredith, Kevin, Zach, Meredith’s dad Dave, and me. Zach didn’t have a survival assistant though, because apparently jumping out of a plane is routine for him. The rest of us came up with some kind of order of who would go when, and then we were allowed to sit there for the rest of the flight.
Now it takes a little while to climb all the way up to 13,500 feet, especially in a small plane like that, so we had quite some time to contemplate our existence and just how freakin’ high up in the air we were. And I spent quite some time doing just that. I hadn’t felt nervous all day until then. I looked out the window: “OMG WE’RE SO HIGH, HOW HIGH ARE WE? *glance at height-ometer thing on wrist* hey David, my thingy-macalit-altitude-describer is broken, it says we’re only 1,500 feet up. Oh that’s right? Hm. Oh no I’m fine, but if you smell anything funny now or while we’re jumping, it’s probably just the birds.”
That said, I didn’t really get too nervous about the actual jump. Obviously I’d never jumped out of a plane before, so I couldn’t even imagine the actual jumping we were about to do. Without knowing how to imagine it, I couldn’t very well freak out about it. The only part I was nervous about was the sliding towards the front of the plane, positioning myself at the door with one foot halfway over the edge, and rolling out. That I could imagine very well, and so I freaked out about it, but only in my head. I put on a very calm face for David and my fellow jumpers. Most of what was happening at this point was adrenaline. Neither fight nor flight seemed like a good idea, so my survival instinct just hid in the corner of my brain and whimpered. Maybe it surrendered to my superior thrill-seeking instinct? Interesting. So the freaking-out anxiety transmuted itself into anxious excitement.
Around 6,000 feet the crazy people at the front pulled open the shockingly simple, flimsy door, and jumped out with creepy grins on their faces. I looked around anxiously to find out if they were supposed to do that. Either that was planned and expected, or everyone else was accustomed to their unpredictable insanity.
Then finally the time came. We had arrived at our stop, at 13,500 feet, and now it was time for us to depart. The entire day of waiting had built up to this. We had spent so long on the ground and now so long just sitting in the plane and watching other people jump, that the idea that I was actually going to edge up to the front and jump off with David on my back (which, literally speaking, is a physical impossibility) was simply implausible. I watched Zach and the pairs in front of us jump.
I didn’t feel like I was about to jump out of a plane. Although I don’t know what that feels like so it’s hard to tell. Then Meredith jumped. Whoa Meredith just jumped out of a plane. Then I was being told it was my turn. This was already so surreal that I didn’t really feel present or conscious. David and I got up and awkwardly waddle-edged our way to the front of the plane like two penguins conjoined at the back and belly respectively, making their way out of a crowded cavern with a low ceiling so they can jump out of a moving plane at 2.5 miles above the ground. (I must’ve fallen off the metaphor train.)
We got to the front, and David again walked me through the instructions. Unfortunately I don’t remember all of them now because I wasn’t there at the time. We positioned our feet – I took a quick glance over the edge – and I leaned back. Then we leaned forward and rolled out of the plane heads first in one fluid motion.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, we’re falling. I am lying face down, looking at the Earth. I concentrate on breathing for a moment. I lift my legs up. It’s cold out here. I lift my head up and look at the horizon. I try to understand what exactly it is that I’m doing right now. I look at the clouds. I hear other people screaming. I scream because I remember that’s probably what I’m supposed to do. I hear David’s voice in my ear but it’s so far away. He’s trying some of those turns and spins he talked about earlier. I don’t remember what to do. I try to move my hands around and imitate him. We spin. I scream again so he knows I’m having fun and not unconscious. He asks me how high we are. I look at my altimeter and tell him about 7000 feet. He probably doesn’t hear me. He has his own. I have no idea how long we’ve been falling. Twenty minutes and twenty seconds are equally plausible. Neither is probably correct. I spend some more time looking at the horizon. I try to find some birds.
Something with a ton of force pulls hard and fast on my stomach, and I am no longer horizontal. I am standing straight up. There is a parachute floating above my head. It is effectively holding me up by my crotch. I am not comfortable. I stand on David’s feet and he adjusts the ties. I look around at the sky again, trying to imagine what floating down through it with a parachute must feel like. I see other people falling too. Then David and I do spins and fast turns in the parachute. It’s fun. We get close to the ground and we pull hard on the parachute rope-tie-handle-things. Suddenly we slow down a heck of a lot.
We land. He unlatch-tie-velcros me. I’m not thinking very clearly. I walk back to the rest of the family celebrating Meredith’s birthday. I have to concentrate to find a way around a small muddy spot. When I get there they ask how it was. I stutter some kind of short, lame response. They understand. Other people get there. We take pictures. I take off my gear. David grades my jump. I do well. Meredith schedules another jump. I sit idly waiting, a little dazed, probably still shaking.
We load into the car. I sit in the back with my eyes closed for 45 minutes patiently waiting for sleep, but it does not come. Then I start texting people. Before long we are back in Raleigh.
I probably spent about 60 seconds in freefall, reaching a maximum speed of about 138 mph. Then I spent around 5 or 6 minutes floating down in a parachute. Altogether I spent about 3.5 hours in a heightened surreal dream state of maximum adrenaline.
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| One of those dots is me. |
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