Don't take life too seriously

Don't take life too seriously, you'll never get out of it alive anyway.

In the end Nathalie went to bat for me in her role of assistant plane captain and got "That Guy" moved to a different plane and he wound up nowhere me on the skydive. The weather broke late in the day and after standing by to stand by for 9 hours we finally managed to get in 2 mostly successful 75-ways. At least, it was successful for ME. I did my part, I flew my slot, and lived. It didn't build all the way but that's not my fault.

And the peasants rejoiced. When we finished drinking dinner Rhonda suggested going to this great bar she had found near the condo she and Mike had rented. It seems her definition of a great bar differs somewhat from mine. The bar itself would have to move up a few rungs to rise to the level of seedy, but the drinks were so strong they made Nathalie and I choke. When Nathalie said she was going to get the bartender to add some more coke to hers a panicked Rhonda stopped her saying "No! She'll probably start diluting mine too!" I was glad Sailor Mike was along, he's a big lad who seems quite capable of handling himself in a difficult situation. I figured if things went bad he could clear a path to the door while I brought up the rear swinging a pool cue and we'd probably be okay. I have my doubts about him being a real sailor though. He doesn't have a parrot, a peg-leg, or a funny hat, and I've never heard him say ARRR! once.

There isn't much in this town. If there's a good restaurant we haven't been able to find it. We checked out of the hotel we had made a reservation in immediately after checking in and fled to the Holiday Inn. It was almost double the price but at least we wouldn't feel the need to disinfect everything when we left. But the liquor store does have a drive through window. I was standing inside at the counter holding a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka that was almost 2 feet tall when somebody pulled up to the window. They ordered a bottle of Tequila, 2 shot glasses, a salt shaker, and some lemons. The next car got a bottle of Wild Turkey Kentucky Bourbon and 2 large glasses of ice.The driver was wearing a deputy Sheriffs uniform. Is there anybody who doubts that they started drinking the stuff before they were out of the parking lot? This town might be kinda hick, but it does have a some redeeming qualities.

Here's a rundown on what we're actually doing for you non skydiver types. We're using 4 Dehavilland twin Otter aircraft with 18 to 19 skydivers in each one, with 2 of the planes carrying a cameraman as well. We sit in 2 rows on the floor facing the rear of the plane with the rig of the person in front of you on your lap. We're packed in like sardines, it's hot, noisy, and usually stinks of BO and the decomposing beer and nachos with extra jalapenos that the guy next to you ate for dinner last night. The planes fly in a V formation with the plane trailing the lead plane on the left side 50 feet lower, 50 feet over, and 50 feet back. The right trail plane is similarly spaced off to the right, and the right trail trail plane is spaced off from the right trail. Just like the birds do it. At 12,500 feet the oxygen feed is turned on to the tubes we have stuffed inside our helmets so we don't pass out from hypoxia as we climb up to 18,000 feet. They give a 2 minute warning and by then we've squirmed up to crouch in the cabin, checking and re-checking our handles and altimeters trying to not get excited and keep focused on our individual jobs for this jump. At 1 minute the door is rolled up, and when the plane captain yells "Climb out!" the first 7 people, called floaters, climb out to cling to the outside of the plane in a space that would seem crowded to normal people if there were only 3 of them. Every movement that they make as they go out has been carefully scripted and rehearsed. The placement of every hand and foot scripted well in advance. The rest of us are in rows of 2, side by side, crowding up as tightly as possible to the people in the doorway on the outside, trying to get as tightly packed as we can without actually pushing somebody off. Every inch closer means less distance to fly to the formation as the plane dumps us out in a string at 90 miles an hour. It's not so important for the people in the first couple of rows, but for the people at the end of the line it can make a huge difference. The people diving out last are usually the most experienced on the dive and these are called the glory slots. When the exit command is given, the floaters push off, each person having been assigned their own little piece of the space outside the plane for themselves so they can fly right away without being in the burble created by someone in front of them. The divers rush the door as fast as they can, throw them selves out, and try to get oriented as quickly as possible so they can start moving to their assigned position on the formation.

The guy running this show is wearing a fluorescent yellow jump suit that is probably visible from orbit which makes him easy to use as a landmark (airmark?), and to help people find their slot. When you get to your place, you pause, match the fall rate of the base, make sure that what you're docking on is stable, then move forward the last couple of feet and take your grips. Then hang on for the ride, fly your ass off and hope nobody hits you, lands on you, or goes underneath you and takes you out. At preplanned altitudes successive groups turn away from the center and track away like their lives depend on it - because it does! Colliding with another canopy on opening can ruin your whole day. It's presently the second most common cause of skydiving deaths. At your assigned altitude you reach back, get hold of your pilot chute, and yank it out of it's pouch into the airflow so it can deploy your main parachute. Then it's head on a swivel, watch out for everybody else, and steer the canopy back to the drop zone. And watch out for the alligators if you land out in the irrigated fields.

The penalties for failing to do your job range from being fined a case of beer, to being cut from the team, to death. What are the chances anything will go wrong? With this many people, all it takes is a momentary lack of focus and a smooth clean 75 way formation can suddenly become 75 bodies tumbling around in the sky slamming into each other. But that doesn't happen often. In some ways this event is a "Who's Who" of skydiving. However there are always a few people who sneak on who are not on "Who's Who", but they are on "What's That?".

In skydiving, as in real life, there is "The Plan", and then there is reality.

On the first dive today I dove out the door and promptly landed on Christian, who shook me off and kept on going, only to have me fly back over him on the way to my slot and land on him again. as he pushed me off he gave me a look that seemed to say "Are you done yet?' before he headed off again. My repeated attempts to rodeo him didn't escape my plane captain at the debrief, but I got off with just a minor scolding. I made my slot but somebody went low and wound up beneath the formation moving back and forth and he finally got under Joanne and I robbing all our air. We held on as long as I could but when I was suddenly looking up at the formation at a 45 degree angle Joanne and I dropped our grips and sank out of the formation before we dragged our whole side with us. Visions of me causing 75 people to all go smacking into each other at 120 miles an hour were dancing in my head. I knew I wasn't in trouble when I got back to the hangar and my plane captain was storming around looking for whoever it was who had been moving back and forth under the formation. A new "That Guy". On one of today's jumps Christian got hit so hard he was almost knocked out and dropped right through the formation but didn't hit anybody else and take them with him.

This big way stuff can be scary. Even the best people can make mistakes and and under these conditions that can never turn out well. My plane captain is some guy called Louie from New Jersey, and when he speaks he sounds like Joe Peschi. It took 2 days before I could understand what he was saying.

I ran into Dave Harper, a guy I used to jump with at the Freefall Convention, and on impulse I introduced Joanne as my wife. She played along and every time Dave is anywhere nearby she comes over to hug me, give me a little peck on the cheek, or lay her head on my shoulder. I'm not sure where I'm going with this but I'll probably let Dave catch me and Nathalie making out at the Tiki Bar late one night. He's a pretty straight laced guy from the bible belt and I hope I don't give him a heart attack.

The day continued with varying degrees of success, and we did complete a 75 -way, another new drop zone record, and my personal best. At the end of day the organizers tried to work out the plan for tomorrow but by then we'd started drinking and they lost control of us pretty quickly. You know you're not going to accomplish much when people are passing around bottles of Tequila in the dirt dive. Sailor Mike was kind enough to run me out a couple of beers so I didn't get in trouble like some of the others who kept sneaking off to get theirs. There was this one guy near me who kept trying to tell the captains how it should be done and Louie finally shut him up when he leaned over and as he handed him a bottle of Tequila said: "Socrates was a Greek philosopher who went around giving people advice. They poisoned him."

We're to be in the hangar with jump suits at 7:30 Sunday morning to finish the dirt dive we were too rowdy (drunk) to do last night so this will be an early night.

Crazy Larry