 The "High
in the Sky"
ROSSMANEver since I could remember I've wanted to fly.
I remember waking up in the middle of the night so happy because
I had just dreamt that I had joined Ororo and Superman above
the clouds for a game of hide and seek... But then I would come
crashing back to reality to find that I really only had a quick
nocturnal fantasy right before consciousness because somebody
had soaked my sheets straight through. I swear to God that it
was always the dog.
Anyway, all through college and then beyond I've
had friends who would tell me about their experiences jumping
out of planes and how "so incredibly fucking shittingly
cool" they were. Unfortunately those jumpers only really
knew of my desire to jump, fly, chute after they had
already done it. Even my good (hot chick) buddy from high school,
frail little Kim, jumped when she was a senior in college and
called me a complete pussy for waiting so long to do it myself.
So there I was, getting de-masculinized by petite
hot chicks and tall fat fucks (I'm talking about you, Don) who
claimed to have more balls in their pinkies than I did between
my... Wait, that doesn't make any sense. The point is they kept
ragging me for talking big, but never doing anything to back
my mouth up. I mean seriously, how long did they know me? This
whole plane-jumping thing couldn't have surprised them after
making prior announcements that I would someday "bone Nicole
Kidman" and "punch Mr. Moore (our junior year World
History teacher) right in his fat fucking face" in front
of his wife and kids. Not to be too obvious, but Ms. Kidman
was/is way too hot for me and Mr. Moore so could have handed
me my own ass... The point is I was always a big talker. But
as you know big talk is just talk unless, unless you're backing
it up. And this time I planned to back it up.
I then began my flying crusade by trying to find
other people who wanted to jump. I knew I didn't have much if
any machismo left to defend, but I just wanted to soar with
the birdies before I die in that horrible horrible emu-mauling
accident that Bob From the Future keeps reminding me is right
around the corner. So everybody that I knew and/or met for a
good 3 years was told of my desire to jump from a moving airplane
(preferably with a parachute on my back). And finally, Mehve
called me up one day a few months ago and said, "Rossman,
you were the guy who said he wanted to skydive, right? 'Cause,
like, I know some people who want to do it. You wanna come?"
It was what I had been waiting for. I stood up, shouted, "Yes!
When?!", threw some pants on, and then wrote my will up
in preparation of the adrenaline-pumping adventure (I seriously
thought my chances of going *splat* were 50/50). Three weeks
later, the four of us met at the airstrip in West West Georgia
(it was so West that it was practically in Mississippi...
Yeah, I know geography, that was a joke, retard). We got there
at about noon, and then we did it... We waited for FIVE HOURS.
See, it was the middle of monsoon season in Georgia
(it hadn't stopped raining for 4 weeks), and that's bad news
for skydivers. Apparently you have to have visibility of 15,000
miles before you can jump. Otherwise you... Well, I don't know.
The wait completely sucked though. That's that. We watched the
guitarist from ZZ Top explain "how not to sue the jumping
company" for a few hours on the looped tape that was in
the VCR... but that kinda got boring, so then Mehve and I started
ogling the hot chicks who were packing their chutes and trying
on their pink and yellow tight tight jumpsuits (I swear to GOD
that if I had the money I'd take up skydiving full time! Apparently
the only people who do it for sport are really hot and tight
girls with very large... propellers). That took up a LOT of
time, and soon the first trips of the day were taking place.
The sky had opened up a bit and the lower level (5 thousand
feet) jumpers were going to try their luck. They were the pros
who'd already been certified and had their own gear and shit.
Mehve, Jill, Jack and I were all first timer pussies who had
to jump tandem with a certified jumper strapped to each of our
asses. But anyway, we all ran outside to watch the first divers
hit the drop zone (which was in the small field right next to
the main skydiving HQ building). Well, they came in fast and
hard, and all of their exposed skin was red and welted causing
quite an alarm in us noobies as we all wondered if pain and
blisters was really part of the jumping experience. Turned out
that they jumped right through a hail cloud and were pelted
for about 10 seconds of freefall (which is 120 MPH). That didn't
do much to settle my nerves.
Soon though the skies were a lot less gray and
a bit more blue. Since Mehve and I were originally supposed
to jump at around 1PM, and there were delayed flights since
10 that morning, we still had a bit of time to wait. But in
the meantime we got to watch the 5 pro hotties (they were
pro-hotties, but I meant that they were professional jumpers,
tsk) jump over and over, and bend over repacking their chutes
over and over again. That really made time fly (I got
a million of them!). Before we knew it they were calling our
names. Mehve was assigned Hulk Hogan as his tandem jumper, and
I got mini-Keanu (which was ironic cause we were really jumping
from the actual plane used in Point Break...
Personally I think everybody should have their first jump be
from the Point Break plane). Mini-Keanu was
pretty cool. He calmed me down and walked me through what to
expect and how to handle the jump. See, mini-Keanu had jumped
over 4,400 times by the time he got to me, so that alone made
me feel that my survival chances were higher than 50%. After
talking to him I figured I had a good 7 in 9 chance of walking
away without my spleen in my throat. Thems are good odds.
After being given my goggles, I was marched out
to the plane. Mehve and I were escorted to the back door and
were crammed into the very front of the compartment, right outside
the cockpit. We would be the last fuckers to jump. Then the
real wait began. It seemed like hours, but I was told later
that it only took about 10 minutes to climb to 14,000 feet for
the jump. Before us, though, there was a group of formation
jumpers who were competing that day. They all jumped out at
10,000 and were hootin' and hollerin' as soon as the rear door
opened. That got my heart racing even more than it pathetically
already was. I looked over at Mehve a few times and noticed
that he seemed drowsy... Almost asleep. He looked like he just
read a 145 page booklet of stereo instructions and was trying
to keep awake without the use of caffeine. It kind of pissed
me off. My cardio system was about to shoot adrenalin out of
my eyesockets, and he was half out of it. I asked him if he
was nervous and he said, "Eh." I was about to respond
with a "You lying sack of turtle shit!" but they reopened
the door again and told us to get ready to jump.
Before I go into the actual skydive itself (you've
seen the pictures, you know I did it), let me tell you about
my "jumping statement." See, I had this guy video
taping me for the jump (it'd would have been great evidence
that I wasn't in my right state of mind in case any lawsuits
were necessary later on), and right before I was to launch myself
from the safety of the mechanical flying machine I was going
to say something witty and memorable to the cameraman to make
myself seem funny and awesome. I planned something like, "Going
DOOOOWN!" or "Wait, this isn't the train station!!!"
I even thought about something a little less topical and a little
more meaningful like "Goooooooo Georgia Bulldogs!!!"
But, as mini-Keanu pushed and shoved me to the doorway and I
placed my right foot one inch away from oblivion I completely
froze. Mini-Keanu had to slap my hand off of the metal bar used
by the formation jumpers (to hold on to so that they all fall
at once) that he had already told me not to grab on to (he told
me to hold onto my harness, because he was going to push me
out of the plane one way or another, and if I held on to the
actual plane "it could get awful messy"). I looked
straight into the camera like a small woodland creature into
speeding headlights and I found that I couldn't even open my
mouth. Then came the push. Only by watching the videotape after
it was all said and done did I find out that I stood speechless
in the doorway for only about 4 seconds (it seemed longer than
the flight up), but even then that shove came as a huge surprise
to me. If you watch my lips you can clearly see me screaming
out, "HOLY FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" as mini-Keanu propelled
me into nothingness.
After falling for 5 seconds panic began to set
in. I couldn't breath! Shit! Fuck! I was going to suffocate
before I even got the parachute open!!! Those bastards!!! But
then I remembered mini-Keanu telling me about this right before
boarding the PB plane. He said, "Now,
the first moments of freefall might be a bit scary since you
might feel like you can't breathe because you're moving too
fast. That's common, and it'll be because you're holding your
breath. BREATHE." As Mehve put it later, "Any sport
in which they have to remind you to breathe is AWESOME!"
So there I was, falling at 120 MPH three miles
above the Earth, with a cameraman five feet away from me, a
stupid grin on my face, and finally oxygen in my lungs. What
an incredifuckingtastic feeling! Freefalling is one of the greatest
sensations I've ever experienced in my lonely lonely life! The
closest thing to it is jumping off that 3 story highdive at
the public pool during the summer. Where you leave your stomach
at the top of the diving board, and your brain starts getting
freaked out because you've been in the air for too long without
touching ground or water. It's like that except for 30-40 seconds!
Wow! It's just... WOW!
Anyway, so I gave the cameraman a couple of high
fives (oh man, HIGH fives! Yeah!) and then basically ignored
my tandem pro-jumper as he tried to show me his altimeter that
said it was time to pull the chute. I had seriously forgotten
that he was still there! You can't feel him on your back, and
your attention is kinda focused on the guy in the orange jumpsuit
with the camera on his helmet who's waving at you to get some
good Kodak moments. I then tried to pull the ripcord out, but
it wouldn't budge. I shrugged to the camera and figured mini-Keanu
would pull it himself if we got dangerously low, it just meant
more time for me to fly. Mini-Keanu then started making wild
gestures to the altimeter and kept doing the "jerking off"
motion with his hand to either tell me that he really liked
me or that I had to pull the cord OR WE WOULD DIE. I didn't
want to die with a guy strapped to my back, so I pulled the
ripcord with all my might and we came screeching to a halt as
45,000 pounds of jerking thrust came focusing in on my crotch.
It's a helluva wakeup call.
The canopy part of the jump was enjoyable. Very
calming compared to the freefall portion. I think that flying
towards terra firma was the better part of the whole thing,
but the canopy trip wasn't all that bad. Just quiet. Everything
comes back into focus again; sights, sounds, unpopped ears.
The only scary part about floating with the chute deployed came
when mini-Keanu told me he was going to loosen the harness a
bit. We were still almost 2 miles up and the world was slowly
gliding below us. I felt a little tug on the harness and thought
"That wasn't that bad," but then I fell two inches
in an instant and grabbed mini-Keanu's legs to save me from
plummeting to my roadkill inspired doom. Mini-Keanu just chuckled
and said, "Heh, that wouldn't have saved you. I just would
have landed pantsless and would have had a good excuse for the
cops for dropping you."
After landing softer than if I had plopped five
inches into a puffy chair, I stood up, shook mini-Keanu's hand,
and adjusted my crotch harness. I had survived to plague the
world for another day! Huzzah!
So, what do I think of throwing myself out of
a plane 3 miles above the ground? I give every thought
and sensation about it TWO THUMBS UP. It was one of
the top three experiences of my life. Slightly ahead of scuba
diving in a reef under 60 feet of water, and slightly behind
experiencing snow in Scotland. I don't think anything will ever
replace my number one though.
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