The Fall of the House of Jett

8/23/07

I realize things have been a little hushed on my old blog front, ladies and gentlemen, and I apologize if any of you are going through withdraw without long-winded, rambling columns from yours truly. I started taking online classes at OTC last week and am still getting acclimated to the system they use, as well as getting back into the role of a student after twelve years distance from school. Nevertheless!—I wish to impart an experience upon which my wife and I embarked last weekend: Plummeting thousands of feet through the air for no reason other than modern Caucasian life has become far too predictable and pedestrian.

Individually Hanni and I both always wanted to be able to check “Skydiving” off our imaginary lists of Life Experiences. It’s nice when our lists overlap like that, since I sincerely doubt “Indulge man-crush by hanging out with Bill Shatner” and “Create an army of paper maché warriors” rank anywhere on Hanni’s aspirations. So when the opportunity arose for us to accompany her friend Rosanna and this fellow Will to throw ourselves at the ground, we quickly accepted. The trouble was, we accepted a full three weeks before the jump, so we had plenty of time to just sort of sit around and grow ulcers over the thought of plummeting 10,000 feet at 120 miles per hour.

Truth be told I wasn’t terribly nervous about it. Skydive Missouri has never had a fatality in its 30-year operation, though they were a little vague about what constituted a “serious injury.” Also, I figured that either things would go swimmingly, or I would be dead; either way no worries. My dear wife, however, experienced the kind of nervous trepidation and white-hot terror usually reserved for people under heavy artillery bombardment.

On your first ever jump, you have to go tandem. Essentially this means you have someone who actually knows what they’re doing strapped to your back in case you get up there and turn into a large, quivering mound of pudding.

Now, I said I wasn’t scared or nervous and that’s true, to a point. The closest to being intimidated came when we got 2 miles up, threw open the door of the tiny Cessna, and stepped out of the bloody plane onto a platform the size of a shoebox. At this point the only thing holding us up is the instructor’s grip on the strut that holds up the wing, and we’re whipping along at 85 miles per hour. I lean my head back and, as instructed, shout “Ready! Set! GO!” and we’re off!

I can attest that earth’s gravity works spectacularly well, dear readers. What is skydiving like? Well I tell you this, it’s nothing like a roller coaster, or even going over a hill in a car, you know where your stomach drops out from under you? None of that. It really doesn’t feel like you’re moving at all. Best I can say is it’s like standing in front of an enormous fan blowing hurricane-speed winds. Also, the ground is rapidly leaping up to meet you. The instructors say that freefall is supposed to last for 40 seconds, but it felt no more than twenty to me. The next thing I know I’m looking at the ultra cool altimeter strapped to my wrist and it’s reading “6000 feet.” I signal to the instructor that I’m ready to pull the cord (you have to signal, it’s way too loud to speak) and reach down to find…nothing. That’s right, despite how many, many times I practiced it, I cannot find the damn ripcord. Never mind that the pull is the size of a salt shaker and bright, bloody orange; I can’t find it.

I don’t panic; I know we have at least ten seconds before the situation becomes critical, so I just keep looking for it and just as we rocket past 5000 feet I find the cord and—

Ba-WHOOM! The canopy balloons above us as my instructor yanks his cord, having noticed I was having trouble finding mine. That’s the only thing I regret; if given another second I could have pulled our chute but, alas, it was not to be.

The 5-minute canopy ride down was amazing. It’s totally silent up there and you’re just drifting over the land like an airship outta Final Fantasy. And they let you steer the chute, so that’s awesome. We pulled some tight spirals on the way down and landed with nary a stumble. It cost a whopping $90 per person for pictures and video so I opted not to get them, but you’re in luck, ladies and gentlemen; Hanni got both and you can see all the photos here on her page. Bear in mind that winds at that speed sort of make the human body look like an elfin mummy.

I would point out that I went this entire post without succumbing to the urge to use any combination of the phrase “jump out of a perfectly good airplane.”