There came a time when the things I found exciting just weren't so exciting anymore. Don't get me wrong, I still love speeding around on the motorcycle, being on stage and taking my jeep off road. I guess I just needed to press my luck a little. It started with something as inane as having lunch...

One of my closest friends, who we'll call "Mitch", (his real name is Eric) had just broken up with his fiance and we went to have lunch at this fantastic little Italian restaurant that I frequent. We were discussing how extremely bored we were when it hit us, maybe we should jump out of a plane. (Don't ask, we don't know why either.) So we agreed that, the following weekend, we would drive to Ohio and actually put our lives in the hands of complete strangers. As the week progressed, Mitch slowly changed his mind, and eventually backed out. At the time I thought he was the ultimate wimp. I figured that sometimes you just have to color outside the lines to have a little fun, and Mitch was going to miss the adventure of a life time. (Besides, chicks dig skydivers, right?)

I looked in the yellow pages and found a skydiving school just across the Ohio state line that was "USPA". I had no idea what that meant, but like most people, I'm impressed by pretentious initials. I called and Rodger. a soft spoken man with a reassuring voice gave me the run down on the school. First there was "ground school" from 9 AM until "around 3". Then you would get suited up and jump. Rodger assured me that they had an outstanding safety record and had been in business over fifteen years. I didn't really know what questions to ask, but he was extremely nice and patient on the phone, so I figured "what the hell, I'll give it a shot". I did made it a point to ask what would happen if I chickened out. I don't recall what the policy was, but I do remember liking it. So, I made a reservation to go on Saturday.

I figured any "smart" shopper would look around and compare schools, so I called a few more. The one thing that struck me was that "ground school" means different things to different people. Some places required one or two hours, to others "a good fifteen minutes" was enough. (There was even one where I swear I could hear the guy's puzzled look over the phone, when I asked about ground school.) I decided to stick with my first choice.

Saturday comes around pretty fast when you don't have job to bog down your week. The drive to Canton, Ohio from Pittsburgh is around 2 and a half hours. Allowing for "getting lost on your way to a new place" time, I figured around three hours would do it. (I'm a guy, we do things like that.) In order to be on the road at six, I figured I should get up at five thirty. Needless to say, I hardly slept at all. The thought that the following day could be either 1) the most thrilling, 2) the most painful, or 3) the LAST day of my life was hard to put out of my mind.

I woke up to the same alarm clock I have for 16 years, and started getting dressed. Mom was awake too. Apparently the thought of her only son, falling almost a mile was a burden on her mind too. She asked if she could come along to watch, and I naturally said, "Sure". (Maybe not the most brilliant quote of my life, but in light of all that was happening, not too shabby.) We grabbed the cam corder and got in the car.

I have been to Ohio quite a few times. In fact, I was born there. In 1969, my parents were living in Akron. One day in late April, I showed up. Being a polite child, I gave them nine months warning. This is about all I know about the time I spent in Akron as a child. We moved to Pittsburgh before my first birthday. I had never been back to Akron, I mostly went into Ohio to car shows in Camfield, (I'm a car junkie, more on that later.) and to see the Stones in Cleveland.

There are many things I like about Ohio. First of all there is no helmet law. I take my motorcycle into Ohio for joy rides when I have the extra time. Also, I have a soft spot for Ohio women. I think the most beautiful women in the world are from Ohio. (Followed by Texas, New York City, and a few of the former Soviet republics. Don't ask.) As far as skydiving goes, eastern Ohio has a few benefits such as the beautiful countryside, relatively flat terrain, and an outstanding emergency medical system.

Mom and I arrived at the school on time. I have to say, I did get us lost, but I STOPPED AND ASKED FOR DIRECTIONS. Mom can verify this. as much of a guy as I am, I asked for directions at a gas station. After I got checked in, Mom went to kill a few hours in Akron, just a few minutes from Canton. I tried to prepare myself for "ground school."

Ground school turned out to be an intensive training program that really puts you through the paces. My instructor was a man named Bill Bird. (Who better to teach you to fly.) My school mates and I watched a couple of instructional videos and went through several practice moves simulating the actions that we would need while "hanging in the straps." We covered every possible situation you could imagine. Even, and I'm not making this up, what to do in the unlikely event of a water landing. (Really, I'm not kidding!) We practiced jumping off a small wooden box and rolling as we landed and, this is important, KEEPING OUR FEET TOGETHER. Bill made damn sure we knew to do this.

If you don't keep your feet together, you could break your ankle, leg, neck, destroy democracy, be stricken blind, cause the economy to collapse, or even break off peaceful relations with China. (Well, maybe not all of that, but you could really get hurt.) He must have told us to "Keep your feet together" 200 times. I will always remember to keep my feet together. (There was also something about pulling a cord of some kind, but it probably wasn't important.)

After a few hours we took a brief lunch break, I decided eating may not have been in my best interest at that time, and just used the time to catch a cigarette. I stood outside the hangar and watched the more experienced jumpers. I must say, I was extremely impressed at the aerial maneuvers they accomplished as well as how low they deployed their chutes. A couple of the landed a few yards in front of me, stepping onto the ground as if they were walking out of their front door. This, more than anything, put me at ease.

After lunch, we went back to the training room in the rear of the hangar and reviewed what we had learned that morning. Our next drill was moving through a mock-up of the Cessna 182 that we would be using for the jump. This simulator was tiny. I thought for sure that the actual plane would be bigger and easier to move around in. Bill assured us that the actual plane was smaller, noisier and hotter. As disturbing as this was, his brutal honesty and matter of factness put me at ease. We practiced moving into jump positions while wearing harnesses. Once you successfully negotiated the mock-up, there was one last oral exam, (although I failed to see the relevance of dental hygiene) then we were sent out to the flight line to await our turn in the sky.

About this time, my Mom returned in a rare display of perfect timing. We decided that it was time for me to show her how to use the cam corder. I have a pretty nice cam corder, auto focus, power zoom, one touch recording, etc. Basically, all you had to do was "point and shoot". Mom is a very intelligent lady with an outstanding sense of humor and an uncanny ability to get completely confused when dealing with anything electronic. Just as I was finishing the basics, they called my flight group. I had to leave Mom to figure out the rest of the cam corder basics for herself.

The school required us to wear jump boots, a flight suit, and a helmet, all of which they provided. I'm a fairly big guy, (6'2", 250 lbs.) so finding clothes that fit me well is hard enough. There was a fairly big selection to choose form and I eventually found a light blue flight suit and helmet to fit me. I found a pair of boots on the first try, and squeezed into my gear and headed upstairs to be fitted with a parachute.

Most of the people in this sport are very fit. They all weigh about as much as one of my legs and have no problems finding a chute to fit their needs. I, on the other hand, am a water buffalo by comparison and need something a little bigger. Again luck stepped in. There was a chute called the "Kahuna". It had been used for tandem jumps (student and instructor under the same chute) and was decommissioned from active duty due to it's amount of use.

I was assured that it was still well within safety limits, but the school had purchased a new chute for tandems, and this one was now used for individuals. One thing I had learned from talking to other jumpers and instructors at this school was safety was THE priority. I had complete faith in the "riggers"(Riggers: a bunch of guys who assemble, pack and inspect the chutes while burping and making other bodily noises for the fun of it.) and if they said it was safe, as far as I'm concerned, it was safe.

If you've never worn a parachute, it's quite an experience. They weigh about 3000 pounds and are strapped so tight to your body, you can actually feel your blood pressure rising. Well, they don't weigh quite that much, but the straps are very tight. Walking becomes an attempt to not look like you shit your pants. (I don't like anything, and I mean ANYTHING, that tight around my crotch.)

I stood in the hangar in full gear and waited for my turn to come. After all day of ground school, I stood there with one thought racing through my mind.

This is when I became nervous. I have always had a fear of heights. I didn't even like going near the railing on the second floor of the mall. As I stood there thinking about it, I thought of Mitch. He was probably sitting at home watching T.V. having a Pepsi, talking to our friends, whatever. Suddenly, I realized Mitch was right, I was the idiot! I calmed down and the jump master came to get us for our flight. I was to go up with two other guys and be second out of the door. We walked out and I got in the number two position in the plane. I was seated facing the rear of the plane with my back to the pilot. I had a nice view out the window, and was quite happy to sit there on the airfield for as long as I could. The weather that day was a nice 86 degrees, low humidity, nice breeze, ideal jumping conditions. Inside the plane, it was at least 300 degrees, low humidity, no breeze, ideal pizza baking conditions.

Knowing how far off the ground we were was absolutely NO relief whatsoever. I began to worry "What if I fall?" At this point the jump master had already secured my static line to a steel loop in the center of the plane. As soon as I had cleared the aircraft, it would pull my chute open. Falling was not going to be a problem. Landing, now THERE'S a problem! "Position" the call came. As quickly as I could, I stepped on to the tiny metal square above the wheel and moved my hands to the outside of the wing. The blast of the wind was familiar, and reminded me of many great adventures on my motorcycle. The main problem was the impossible distance to the ground. Beneath my feet there was... air, to my right... air, to my left... the plane and a man I seem to recall being my jump master yelling "GO! GO! GO!"
This was my subtle cue to let go of the plane. I thought about this in the seconds of infinity as I clung to the strut of this plane. I began to ponder, "If, when they land, I were to run, REALLY fast..." Believe me, this seems very logical in situations like this.

Finally, that little voice in my head, or possibly my jump master, said "Let go already!!" I did. the first six seconds after you "let go" of the plane, you are supposed to count to six thousand. (By thousands, we're not lethal idiots, here!) In ground school, everyone had barked out a brave "one-one thousand, two-one thousand..." etc. My count was a fire breathing "One-one OHDEARGOD !! PLEASE DON'T LET ME DIE LIKE THIS!! I SWEAR, I'LL NEVER LIE, MASTURBATE, MAKE FUN OF YOUR SON, GIVE MEAN LOOKS, OR SPEAK ILL OF MY FELLOW MAN EVER EVER EVER AGAIN, I PROMISE!!!" Although he probably didn't believe me either, my chute opened. After six seconds of sheer terror, I was the happiest anyone could be to see that big red, white and blue canopy. All was not perfect, though. The lines had twisted as the chute deployed. This was very common, we had even trained for it in ground school. You were to simply grab the risers, (two large straps at the top of the harness) and pull them out to the sides. You would then spin under the chute until things were straight. In ground school, we even practiced spinning in nice little circles as we unwound our lines. This is not quite how it happens. Those pleasant little circles we slowly turned in the classroom, became a fantastic "James Brown" move in midair. I whipped around about 6 times (actualIy I lost count after 2), then checked to see if everything was OK. It was and my instructors voice came over the radio strapped to my chest to guide me in. We practiced turns, and even landings as I enjoyed the most spectacular view of the world I had ever seen.

 

The video of my jump was actually pretty good, there was a certain amount of jumpiness associated with filming aircraft as was to be expected. Then the plane took off. The most wonderful moment in this tape occurs not when I exit the plane. It's not the safe landing, or even the aerial maneuvers. It's one brief moment where the plane dances out of the shot and clouds whiz around as the lens searches for a very small aircraft lost in a vast sky. It's a clip of audio perfection where my Mom, in all her glory and infinite wisdom gives the greatest quote of all time... "SHIT!" As far as I'm concerned, it is the funniest moment in history. I watch that tape and laugh for hours at the absolute humanity of the situation. Only my Mom could put the danger out of her mind and want a good tape for her only son, who was at that very moment risking his life for no good reason at all. My Mom is the all time greatest!