"Absolutely not!" I said when a reader of Coast magazine where I was freelancing suggested back in the year 2000, that I skydive.
Then one morning I remembered how, as a child, I climbed to the neighbors' pine tree and how I wished I could jump off and fly like an eagle.
A plane, a tree - not much difference, I thought, so I picked up the phone and called Perris Valley Skydivers. My fate was sealed.
Friday came. A marine-layer blanketed the area. Destiny was postponed until Sunday. I sighed with relief until an actor friend called to ask what I was going to yell on the way down. Was he kidding? I was worried about survival, not lines to deliver!
The idea stuck in my brain. I asked everyone. "Geronimo" was the big winner. Expletives came in second. "Shazam" was my favorite.
Sunday arrived. I woke in a cold sweat. Would I live through it? There's only one way to find out," I said as I jumped out of bed (didn't hurt to practice) and got ready to go.
Located in Riverside County, Perris Valley Skydiving is one of the largest drop zones in the U.S. and home of the US Nationals 2000. Handsome people were everywhere. Parachutes were everywhere. Skydivers were folding left and right. I prayed they knew what they were doing.
Since I was tandem jumping (a dual passenger/pilot system using an oversized parachute specially built for two), orientation was minutes rather than hours. The jump was 60 seconds of free fall and four minutes of canopy descent — it took seven minutes to complete the waiver, another 10 to choose the video music. "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" wasn't available but Van Halen's "Jump" was.
Dennis O'Keefe, the chief instructor, greeted me. Not wanting to miss crucial information, I hung on his every instruction. When he strapped me into my harness and walked off to get our parachute, I called after him, "Get a good one."
He laughed. "It's the only kind."
Out on the runway, the Twin Otter's engines revved. Videographer Clint Clawson skipped along side Dennis and me, a grin on his boyish face, his camera in mine. "Smile," he said.
I gave him my best, "Yoo-hoo!" and smiled until my cheeks hurt.
In flight, Dennis talked me through the jump. I listened intently while watching houses below disappear into the landscape. My stomach lurched. I almost began to cry. I looked around. The other skydivers seemed almost bored.
My altimeter pointed to the 12,000 ft. mark. Destiny lay a mere 500 feet away. Dennis scooted behind me and snapped our harnesses together. If we'd gotten any closer, I would've had to marry him.
The plane door opened and the noise was deafening. Skydivers rolled out and flew away. It was just Dennis and me. He signaled, and in tandem, we moved toward the tail. Robot-like, I kneeled at the door and looked down. My heart slammed against my chest. Clint whipped out of the plane and held onto the side, his camera running. I waved meekly and…poof!
Air blasted me at 120 mph. I knew I was supposed to yell something but couldn't remember my lines so I spread my arms out and laughed. I was flying!
Clint was in front of me, his camera running. I knew Dennis was still there because I could see his hands. But that's all I knew. The earth below looked like a giant spinning table map. I felt like I'd been dunked into a cold-water lake. I gulped the world in like I was dying of thirst. Sixty seconds ticked off like hours.
"Pull the cord!" Dennis yelled.
I snapped to attention, but I was too slow. Dennis pulled it for me. The parachute ruffled open. Wind whipped it into shape.
The world went silent.
We floated over hills, lakes and valleys and into the blue blue sky. Only four minutes.
I will forever look at the sky through different eyes.
"Watch this." Dennis adjusted the parachute and spun us around like a top. I started laughing and couldn't stop. "Better than Magic Mountain," I gasped.
Then the earth rose to greet us.
"Legs up!" Dennis said and we slid into a perfect tandem butt-landing on the grassy strip. I was too filled with exhilaration and joy to move. Clint, standing 10 feet away, surrounded by his colorful red parachute, the camera still rolling said, "How was it?"
What was a girl to say?…tears streaming down my face, I giggled and somehow managed to squeak out, "Shazam."
Lucy Llewellyn Byard is currently a columnist for the Record-Bee. To contact her, email lucywgtd@gmail.com
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