Throwing my life away...
I love my motorcycles. They are a blast and a thrill. But they are deadly. I tell anyone that asks about riding "If you ride, before long you will have a moment that makes you think: 'I can die REALLY easily doing this'." And sometimes for folks with thick skulls it just does not click in your head how dangerous motorcycling is until that moment, where it's either too late and it kills you or it doesn't and now you have some thinking to do after the shaking stops. I do not remember the first time I had that hit me. Probably for the best; I conquered my motorcycling fears years ago. Even with one time in 2006 on the ramp to I70 East where I really thought I was going to die, I was not scared; just focused to get out of the jam.
Real fear... real TERROR... I'd forgotten what that was like, if I had ever felt it at all.
Until that Saturday. 8/30/2014, to be precise.
The class was done and I'd passed the written test. I went to have lunch and returned about an hour later. Soon I was fitted for my harness. We boarded the plane, quickly left the ground and climbed. I kept checking the altimeter on my wrist; nervouser and nervouser. My instructor Darko (who reminds me more than a little of Antonia Banderas, even though he's Eastern European. Croatian, IIRC) hooked up my harness to his own, becoming the shell to my turtle. The plane took forever to climb. I was impatient to get to 12000 ft; ridiculous considering my thoughts were how very much I did not want to do this anymore.
We got to the proper height... then the door opened and three people promptly fell out of the plane. I'm sure I visibly paled. "They're DEAD!", I screamed to myself. Then another two went out... same thought blaring in my head. No concern for THEM, mind you; I was next. Darko scooched us to the gaping hole in the side of our plane. It all stopped seeming real.
I looked down... two miles down. No, this isn't happening, I cannot do this... as we inched closer. Almost every part of me wanted to stop us from going. Closer and closer. Now on the edge, right behind the wing and ready to drop. All that green, so far away that it barely moved beneath us.
If you could asked me right then, I would have said that was terror. Sheer, absolute. Then Darko shoved us off.
And I learned what true terror was. I do not recall much about freefall. Flashes, mostly. But I did not freeze up. Darko used the hand signals to tell me to arch my body to streamline and stabilize our fall. And I did. I recall yelling out the altitude at 10000 and I did my ripcord check three times. The wind tore through my mouth and nostrils, painfully ripping out all of the moisture. My eyes hurt and watered some behind the goggles. The dial of the altimeter dropped counterclockwise, incomprehensibly fast but I watched intently and I THINK I waved as I should have when we passed 6000 feet. I know I pulled around 5500. I don't remember if I used to proper technique to pull but I didn't hurt myself doing it so... yay for my team.
I remember the canopy unfurling and the rush of relief as the lines went taut and we began to float. I visually confirmed full deployment of our chute and ran through my class assignment duties. I tested the controls to turn us 90 degrees; right, then left Darko turned us in a full circle and set up our approach for landing. The glide down was still surreal, just much less so than freefall. The difference between a beer buzz and an acid trip, I'd guess. I babbled a lot during our float down. My inner dialogue was gone. I was giving Darko an Austin Powers-esque running commentary of everything going through my mind. I figured I sounded like an idiot but it didn't occur to me to care.
Darko handled all of the landing duties and executed it perfectly. My legs collapsed under me after getting unhooked. I shook as the adrenaline, ALL OF IT, coursed through my veins. I thought for sure I was going to puke straight away. I told the ground crew and they quickly stripped my gear off. (If someone pukes on it, they have to take it out of rotation for cleaning and inspection because of stomach acids.)
I wandered around a bit, talking to a few other jumpers. Then I fetched my wallet and keys from the office. They asked me how it was. I replied: "It was amazing and terrifying."
It actually took another ten or fifteen minutes for me to barf. Eating lousy fried chicken from the local grocery store deli for lunch right before jumping was probably a really bad idea. Lesson learned.
I loved pushing myself but skydiving was a 100% alien experience. Very wrong, in a manner which I cannot explain. I felt almost damaged afterwards.
But... hell... I took the class and I stupidly prepaid for my first solo jump. So I had to do it again.
*******************
But it was two weeks between my first fall and my second jump. I had pre-paid for the second, along with a third guy to take video and still pictures. Both would have been that first day, but the winds were too high for my solo jump. Then bad weather predictions and other factors (timing, other stuff, hangovers, work) kept me from getting the second jump done.
Real fear... real TERROR... I'd forgotten what that was like, if I had ever felt it at all.
Until that Saturday. 8/30/2014, to be precise.
The class was done and I'd passed the written test. I went to have lunch and returned about an hour later. Soon I was fitted for my harness. We boarded the plane, quickly left the ground and climbed. I kept checking the altimeter on my wrist; nervouser and nervouser. My instructor Darko (who reminds me more than a little of Antonia Banderas, even though he's Eastern European. Croatian, IIRC) hooked up my harness to his own, becoming the shell to my turtle. The plane took forever to climb. I was impatient to get to 12000 ft; ridiculous considering my thoughts were how very much I did not want to do this anymore.
We got to the proper height... then the door opened and three people promptly fell out of the plane. I'm sure I visibly paled. "They're DEAD!", I screamed to myself. Then another two went out... same thought blaring in my head. No concern for THEM, mind you; I was next. Darko scooched us to the gaping hole in the side of our plane. It all stopped seeming real.
I looked down... two miles down. No, this isn't happening, I cannot do this... as we inched closer. Almost every part of me wanted to stop us from going. Closer and closer. Now on the edge, right behind the wing and ready to drop. All that green, so far away that it barely moved beneath us.
If you could asked me right then, I would have said that was terror. Sheer, absolute. Then Darko shoved us off.
And I learned what true terror was. I do not recall much about freefall. Flashes, mostly. But I did not freeze up. Darko used the hand signals to tell me to arch my body to streamline and stabilize our fall. And I did. I recall yelling out the altitude at 10000 and I did my ripcord check three times. The wind tore through my mouth and nostrils, painfully ripping out all of the moisture. My eyes hurt and watered some behind the goggles. The dial of the altimeter dropped counterclockwise, incomprehensibly fast but I watched intently and I THINK I waved as I should have when we passed 6000 feet. I know I pulled around 5500. I don't remember if I used to proper technique to pull but I didn't hurt myself doing it so... yay for my team.
I remember the canopy unfurling and the rush of relief as the lines went taut and we began to float. I visually confirmed full deployment of our chute and ran through my class assignment duties. I tested the controls to turn us 90 degrees; right, then left Darko turned us in a full circle and set up our approach for landing. The glide down was still surreal, just much less so than freefall. The difference between a beer buzz and an acid trip, I'd guess. I babbled a lot during our float down. My inner dialogue was gone. I was giving Darko an Austin Powers-esque running commentary of everything going through my mind. I figured I sounded like an idiot but it didn't occur to me to care.
Darko handled all of the landing duties and executed it perfectly. My legs collapsed under me after getting unhooked. I shook as the adrenaline, ALL OF IT, coursed through my veins. I thought for sure I was going to puke straight away. I told the ground crew and they quickly stripped my gear off. (If someone pukes on it, they have to take it out of rotation for cleaning and inspection because of stomach acids.)
I wandered around a bit, talking to a few other jumpers. Then I fetched my wallet and keys from the office. They asked me how it was. I replied: "It was amazing and terrifying."
It actually took another ten or fifteen minutes for me to barf. Eating lousy fried chicken from the local grocery store deli for lunch right before jumping was probably a really bad idea. Lesson learned.
I loved pushing myself but skydiving was a 100% alien experience. Very wrong, in a manner which I cannot explain. I felt almost damaged afterwards.
But... hell... I took the class and I stupidly prepaid for my first solo jump. So I had to do it again.
*******************
But it was two weeks between my first fall and my second jump. I had pre-paid for the second, along with a third guy to take video and still pictures. Both would have been that first day, but the winds were too high for my solo jump. Then bad weather predictions and other factors (timing, other stuff, hangovers, work) kept me from getting the second jump done.
Looking back, those high winds were a blessing. I really doubt I could have forced myself to do the second jump that day.
The second was not really going to be a solo jump, my two instructors Jeremy (male) and Darcy (male, Kiwi) were to hold onto me until I (hopefully) opened the main parachute. And my class instructor Patrick was going to film the descent.
Now let me say I'm a little proud of myself for jumping the second time. I would never have believed I could feel terror like I did on that first jump. It was by far the scariest thing I've ever experienced in my life. But to know that and feel that, and then prepare to do it again? On purpose? AND actually follow through with it? Yeah... I'll pat myself on the back a little here.
The second was not really going to be a solo jump, my two instructors Jeremy (male) and Darcy (male, Kiwi) were to hold onto me until I (hopefully) opened the main parachute. And my class instructor Patrick was going to film the descent.
Now let me say I'm a little proud of myself for jumping the second time. I would never have believed I could feel terror like I did on that first jump. It was by far the scariest thing I've ever experienced in my life. But to know that and feel that, and then prepare to do it again? On purpose? AND actually follow through with it? Yeah... I'll pat myself on the back a little here.
I showed up on September 14th and I went through some drills with the instructors to get it all straight. I practiced my “airfoil” form and went over the hand signals over and over. (A pointed finger means “PULL your ripcord, NOW!”)
Way too much time passed sitting around the hangar then we climbed into the airplane and ascended. Around 4000 feet, we leveled off, the door opened and one guy jumped out. That seemed odd to me but I just shrugged. We continued on our way up to 12000 ft. My instructors ran over the hand signals, drilling me over and over. They seemed to want to put me at ease. I kept wanting to tell them that I was fine, but I was sure I was visibly nervous so I don't blame them for worrying about me. The fear was there, but I felt it was under control.
We got to altitude and the door opened up. Another jumper bailed immediately. Next Patrick climbed out, then Jeremy. I got into position at the doorway and Darcy grabbed onto me on the right. I looked into Darcy and got an OK. Looked out to Jeremy and got another. I faced ahead and yelled "PROP!" Then I did some deep breaths, said a quick prayer and focused... then went up, down and out.
Unfortunately my exit was jacked up and I flipped over. It took some time to right-side myself. It sure didn't help that the advice Patrick had given me in class on how to turn over doesn't apply when there's a dude's hanging onto you. Jeremy lost a hold and went flying away. He tried to return while I was running my PRCP (Practice Rip Cord Pulls), which didn't help him reattach to the grips on the arms of my jump suit. Darcy held on throughout. I ran through my routines and was doing okay. I was still too focused to relax and enjoy the freefall. The wind screamed louder than I'd remembered from the previous jump. But luckily my ears did not hurt the next day as the did after the first jump.
When we hit 6000 feet, I started to panic. I knew I had to do something, but for some reason I got fixated on what exactly that was and what it's called. I felt fear rising for a moment, then stopped and told myself to STFU and just pull at 5500. And so I did. The canopy opened fine and my fall was aburptly halted. Unfortunately, the rig's "slider" started flapping just over my head, so loudly that I could not hear the ground crew on the radio telling me what to do. But my chute opened correctly and the toggles worked fine to turn my aircraft. After fighting to hear the radio for a bit, I eventually just gave up on that idea and started figuring out my landing patterns. And I started enjoying the glide down.
Which was just beautiful. It is a very peaceful sensation in comparison to freefall. There is much less pressure to perform and the view is lazy and gorgeous. I would really like to pull the ripcord immediately out of the plane sometime and enjoy a really long glide down.
Eventually I managed to hear the radio to get myself guided in. The landing impact was pretty hard. I had flared my chute too soon / too high to brake the descent. Then I forgot to relax and roll when I hit the ground. It was pretty jarring but all the pieces worked so "any landing you can walk away from" and all that.
That and I think the impact ripped open the seat of my jeans. I really liked that pair, too.... dammit.
My "briefing" for the class was a mixed bag, though they did pass me for this first drop. But I did not keep proper form for my "arch" very well. It's not a natural position to be in. It's kind of like you're the birdie in badminton and your pelvis is the rubber red part at the bottom. Sort of funnily, Jeremy told me he did worse in that drop than I did. He said he only weighs 160 vs my 204 so he should have put weights onto his harness to even our falling speeds out. Oh, and they told me if I want to hear the radio better to cock my head ninety degrees. Yeah... information that would have been more useful BEFORE the jump, guys.
So my main takeaways from this first test are that I really need to arch and relax. If I do this again, I hope to have an in-ear speaker for my radio so I can actually hear. I would like prescription sports goggles too. I hope I can chill and get my class assignments done and actually enjoy freefall for a few seconds, instead of being so focused on “class”. We'll see.
Skydiving is a terrifying blast. I very much suspect I will jump again, maybe any day now. It calls to me. Maybe even more than motorcycling ever has.
Eventually I managed to hear the radio to get myself guided in. The landing impact was pretty hard. I had flared my chute too soon / too high to brake the descent. Then I forgot to relax and roll when I hit the ground. It was pretty jarring but all the pieces worked so "any landing you can walk away from" and all that.
That and I think the impact ripped open the seat of my jeans. I really liked that pair, too.... dammit.
My "briefing" for the class was a mixed bag, though they did pass me for this first drop. But I did not keep proper form for my "arch" very well. It's not a natural position to be in. It's kind of like you're the birdie in badminton and your pelvis is the rubber red part at the bottom. Sort of funnily, Jeremy told me he did worse in that drop than I did. He said he only weighs 160 vs my 204 so he should have put weights onto his harness to even our falling speeds out. Oh, and they told me if I want to hear the radio better to cock my head ninety degrees. Yeah... information that would have been more useful BEFORE the jump, guys.
So my main takeaways from this first test are that I really need to arch and relax. If I do this again, I hope to have an in-ear speaker for my radio so I can actually hear. I would like prescription sports goggles too. I hope I can chill and get my class assignments done and actually enjoy freefall for a few seconds, instead of being so focused on “class”. We'll see.
Skydiving is a terrifying blast. I very much suspect I will jump again, maybe any day now. It calls to me. Maybe even more than motorcycling ever has.
But I do not feel the need to do it again as now the fear is gone, such that I almost don't believe it was even there before. G. Gordon Liddy was right: "Do that which you fear, and the fear will die."
And I am very glad to have killed that fear.
posted by Michael Maier at 10:56 PM
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