The moment was near. After shuffling in tandem across a bench in a noisy aircraft toward the exit, final preparations were made. Another pair disappears in front of me, and suddenly, it was my turn. Remembering to sit on my right knee, we got into position.
Todd tapped me solidly on the shoulder, and I raised a thumb up. A lean forward, “Ready!” And a lean back, “SET!” Then we were out into free air.
* * *
Skydiving is something I have wanted to do for years. In college, there were mentions of a skydiving company out west from my college, but one big thing hindered the plans: The cost. Despite our desires, we just never had the opportunity to save up just enough to pay to hurl ourselves out of a plane. Perhaps some of us were a bit nervous about that action.
Oh my god, what if I die?!
It is easy to experience such fears, because we just simply do not see how skydiving is done, and how often it has been successfully achieved. Like aircrafts, we tend to find out about the bad stuff in a greater proportion of its occurring than we hear about the daily miscues. To those that fear such mishaps, I invite them to come and be a spectator at a skydiving drop zone.
At Skydive Arizona, in Eloy, Arizona, the sheer regularity of flyers is something to behold. Listening to the tales of the pros, you would hear some horror stories, such as a skydiver doing a face plant, possibly causing a concussion. However, if you press them, you would discover that it was “last year” where such an event occurs. Broken legs happen here and there, due to hard impact. Spinal injuries are possible in a bad landing, just as much as doing a butt-fall on roller blades.
In a world where Steve Nash can find himself with a bloody nose playing basketball, risks are inherent in any activities. But people focus on the very big one: Death. Granted, as insane sky-flying Jordan may be, he wouldn’t quite be at a risk of death unless he finds himself upside down landing full on his head. However, to focus on the bad, we miss on the good.
Just recently, a friend was having a birthday, and her wish is to go skydiving again. She recruited several friends, who recruited me to join them for the fun. Finally, an opportunity to experience something I have been meaning to do for a while. The date was set, reservations were formed, and the group found themselves in the middle of the desert in Eloy, AZ.
* * *
Skydive Arizona is billed as the world largest skydiving facility — pros worldwide find themselves there from time to time, lured by fantastic weather year-round, to craft serious art form in the sky.
Artists, we weren’t. We signed up for tandem jumping — something that is pretty much required for new skydivers. The six of us huddled up in a room, where the video-equivalent of the last section of this blog was shown, imploring us to read the legal documents carefully, and sign/initialize everywhere there are blank space. Then we were asked to initialize/sign a few more spots we failed to discover during our scavenger hunt. I haven’t signed such an intense document since my mortgage signing. Try as I might, if I trip and stub my toe going out of that meeting room, I can’t sue them.
Lawsuits weren’t on our minds, the sheer wonder of the sky fully occupy it. And the sheer wonder of waiting time. Despite booking a 9:30 slot, there were a huge crowd demanding its turn on the plane, including a roster of 22 expert skydivers doing their experiments altogether.
After a three and a half hour wait, the pagers went off, and we marched onward to the tandem gathering spot, where we met with our instructors (the back-seat drivers, literally.) Todd was the instructor of the day for me, a 5′10″ built guy, with military cut hair, and baby-doll face. It turns out that his birthday was on the same day (tomorrow) as the birthday-girl-of-honor.
During our preparations, Todd informed me of several critical points — he chose to do signals, instead of verbal instructions. While landing, he would kick my legs, and I am to raise it forward, to allow him to control the landing. While in the air, I am to remember the safety position, and stick to it (holding the straps to the chute) until told otherwise. The very first few seconds are spent by Todd deploying the mini-chute in order to control our fall. Once ready, I am to relax in a more open position, enjoy the view, smile, and appreciate the air.
Falling from 13,000 feet to 5,500 feet (as indicated by our wrist altimeter), we are to deploy the chutes, by him guiding my hand to the ripcord, and us both pulling it. Grabbing hold of the chutes’ control, we are to head toward landing.
Very simple, but I asked him to remind me several times, to ensure that I get it. I am incredibly plagued with the difficulty in remembering everything to the letter, and I do not want to hinder Todd’s ability to control the situation. He understood very well.
One last instruction was for me to sit on my right knee, due to my height, at the exit to the plane once it was our turn to jump. He would slam on my shoulders, and I am to give him a thumb up if everything’s okay on my part. Then we are to lean forward, back, and then push out. 1, 2, 3. Ready, Set…
* * *
The first thought I had as we were rapidly departing the plane, was a stronger version of that up swell feeling you have when you go down the first hill on a roller coaster. It’s not quite fear, but a sense of “here we go!”
The second thought I had was how frightfully cold it was.
I wonder why nobody really mentions it before. They all beam with glowing pride of their first experience in free fall, and not one mentioned how cold it was.
Well, on behalf of everyone who have done this; allow me to tell you this:
It was fucking cold.
And it was very awesome. After a few moments of my body adjusting to this cold, just the sheer feeling of falling, the view, the intense silence of my ears failing to adjust to the ear pressure (or the fact that my hearing aids gotten frozen, or a mixture of both), I found myself checking the height every five seconds, as advised by Todd. Once hitting 6,000 feet, I waved toward the altimeter on my wrist, and soon Todd noticed my action, signaled to me to prepare for the chute, and we yanked the rip-cord.
We spent the few times going down practicing our landing, and as I remember now, I forgot to do what he wanted me to do — pull the cords as we are landing to make the landing softer, so we ended up doing a chute slide. Nothing wrong with that, but I wish I would land on my feet.
At least, I didn’t end up doing what one of the girls did — she ended up flip-flopping both of them forward, as her feet got tangled up on the ground. One guy, on his third tandem jump, asked for a back flip off the plane, and got it fully recorded for great effect. One girl, who also paid for the video, was seen signing that it was incredibly cold for half of her freefall.
In fact, reviewing the videos everyone else paid for (but I didn’t — the price was just too steep for me), the entire freefall moment was very brief, less than a half minute, for them. But I felt as if I was falling for several minutes, before the chute opened.
The entire experience was so worth it. I hope to go back often enough to jump to solo-with-instructor jumping. However, fully licensed required that one jump 25 times, a steep and expensive proposition for anyone not all that serious about the experience.
The entire staff was very professional, and most of them are very friendly. It is a brotherhood at Skydive Arizona. However, a line in the training room said it best:
“We are the one who throws you out of the plane, so please be nice to us.”
