"The whole world is about three drinks behind." Humphrey Bogart
A bunch of us went out to a high class restaurant for dinner Saturday night. This place had real tablecloths, napkins that weren't made from paper, and a 3 piece jazz band playing on a small stage. Johnny, Diane, and Brian had eaten there the last time they'd been in Perris so a couple of nights earlier we'd headed off down Interstate 215 while they tried to remember what the name was, where it was, and what it looked like. I had no doubt we were on a fools errand but after 15 minutes of following the confused and uncertain directions given by Johnny McNally we found the place and got a phone number so we could make reservations for Saturday night.
We booked a reservation for 9 of us, and on our best behavior, clad in our best bib and tucker, off we went. We were given a prime spot next to the huge fireplace. The meal was superb, the service was stellar, the ambiance was high class. We arrived drunk of course, so the best behavior didn't last long but we'd tried. Our waitresses name was Loma, who wasn't phased in the slightest by anything we did, including my repeatedly hitting on her all evening. Every time she came near a bunch of people would start singing Copa Cabana by Barry Manilow but substituting her name instead: "Her name was Loma, she was a showgirl....."
I'd been threatening to get the band to play it all night long and as we prepared to leave Diane threw down the gauntlet and dared me to follow up my words with action.
The guys in the band said they didn't know any modern stuff, but after I waved a twenty dollar bill around and hummed a few bars they started to pick it up. Which explains how I wound up dancing on the bar in a five star restaurant with our long suffering waitress, Loma.
Sunday. Our last day of what had ceased to be a camp, and had become a camp out.
When I stuck my head out the motel room door that morning it looked encouraging, and I thought we might get some jumps in. By the time we got to the airport the clouds had thickened up again, but we were still in good spirits when Doug led us out to the field to go through the dive again. He thanked us for our patience, pointed to the sky, shrugged, and then it was stand by to stand by......
I grabbed my laptop, ordered breakfast, and installed myself in a booth in the Bomb Shelter Bar and Grill. Which is where I remained for the next 7 1/2 hours, getting up only to fetch more coffee, food from the pick up window, or use the bathroom. We weren't called on all day long.
Finally, at 4 o'clock, Doug called us all to the creeper pad for one last time. I noticed he didn't say bring jumpsuits or gear, he just called us to the pad. Our release time was 5, which meant that even if the sky was clear, which it wasn't, we'd barely be able to squeeze in a jump. We were done. The record attempt that never was, was over. Doug said some heartfelt words, thanked us for our perseverance, and congratulated us on our improvement since the start of the camp.
When he was done Brian stood up, said a few words to Doug on our Behalf, and presented him with an event T-shirt that we had all signed.
We all got refunds for the jumps we didn't make, but we all would have rather been going home poorer, with more entries in our logbooks.
There was just one thing left to say, a question that needed to be asked, so egged on by Diane I mentally kissed away all hope of ever getting invited to one of Doug's events again and stuck up my hand. "Doug, have there been any beer fines levied today?" He shook his head no. "Well then Mr. Forth, I seem to recall you telling us back at the start of the camp that if we got to the end of a day and you hadn't fined anybody, that you would buy beer for everybody!" He gave me a withering look as other people in the crowd started
to chime in as well.
"I haven't released you yet!" he shouted back at me over the growing noise.
Refusing to give any ground and knowing that the crowd was on my side I shouted back "Two days ago we didn't jump, you still fined me and I paid it!"
"You got on the wrong plane! You deserved it"
Truth is, Doug was in the right, I did deserve that fine, I made a boneheaded mistake and knew going in that if I did anything stupid, I would owe Beer. And it was completely unreasonable to ask him to cough up beer for
us on a day we never even climbed into a plane.
I was about to let it drop when, with a huge grin on his face, Dan BC stepped away from the organizers over to our side, stuck up his hand, and said "Hey, I think the guy's got a point! He bought beer when we didn't
jump! I'm on his side!" Dan BC had MY back! The crowd roared in laughter, and Doug, knowing there was only one way out of this, looked at the ground, shook his head, and started digging cash out of his pocket.
I couldn't believe I got away with it the first time. But Twice?!
On his way out Dan BC shook my hand saying "Your children, your children's children, and your children's children's children, will be front float on every single skydive they make for their entire lives." There isn't anybody on that camp that will ever forget me.
I took up a collection from everybody and together with the $60 I got from Doug set off for Winco to fetch beer and munchies. Beer is cheap down here, so we wound up with an entire shopping cart load.
And that was that. A little anticlimactic, a lot of travelling and sitting around to have an excuse to drink way too much beer.
It was worth it.
Until next time.......
Crazy Larry
I'm now living the life that everybody imagined they would have when they retired. If they had one hell of an imagination.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Behind every successful man....
We never did jump on Friday, we hung around doing the usual reading, napping, lying about our accomplishments, and speculating about who would be hooking up with who at the banquet scheduled for that night. We actually went so far as to get geared up late in the day as it started to clear, but blue sky lost the race against sunset, and just as it got clear enough to go, it got too dark to be putting 55 people up in the air. The banquet was the usual skydiver party. As we ate they played the videos from the jumps we
had been able to do. The party ended early so we could be on the creeper pad, at 8, in jumpsuits, no exceptions, no excuses.
The day was far from being a write-off as through the day people kept coming up to congratulate me on my performance during the morning dirt dive, and I got to hear the story being told and retold to any of the locals who had missed it. I'm looking forward to being sitting at a fire at a strange dropzone and hearing somebody tell the story of the nutcase that called out the organizers at the big way camp and got them to cough up beer.
When I got out of the shower on Saturday morning Matt asked me if I knew somebody named Tom from the states, and started trying to remember the name of his DZ. I reached into my drawer in the dresser and pulled out my "Endless Mountains Skydiving" T shirt. "That's it!" he said. He had just gotten off the phone with Tom as they discussed a Pilot 168 main that Matt was interested in. When Tom found out where Matt lived he asked "Do you know a guy named Larry?". Notable or notorious, I seem to be remembered everywhere I go. I wonder if Tom's heard the story about the guy at the big way camp yet?
A bunch of the local talent got added to the group Saturday to bring our total to 75. I'm flying the same slot I've been in for what seems like forever. It's at the point where I'd rather be at work, at least then I'd be
accomplishing something. One redeeming part is that my clone on the opposite side of the formation for all the endless dirt dives has been Monique. Apart from being quite nice to look at, we've been making faces at each other, crossing our eyes, and generally trying to make each other laugh and lose concentration. The other fun has been listening to Brian give Michel Lemay, former captain of Evolution, the 3rd ranked 4-way team in the world, advice on how to handle the front float slot. Brian did a great job in that slot the previous week and thought Michel could benefit from his experience in handling a physically demanding, and damn cold, slot. The people who don't know Brian's sense of humor were aghast that anybody would tell Michel how to skydive, with Brian milking it for all he can as he talked later about how he thought "The guy will probably be okay if he does as I told him"
When we went out to the driest field we could find to practice the exit people kept asking me if I was front float, quoting Dan BC's curse from the previous day "You will be front float for the rest of your life, and so will
your children, and your children's children".
It's almost noon, we are again standing by to stand by, wearing jumpsuits, eating, sleeping, napping. Brian has started a pool on what time the lead plane will leave the ground when (if) we finally take off. It's a fifty -
fifty draw at a dollar a head with the winner getting half, and the rest being spent on beer. He only started a short time ago and he's already up to 58 bucks.
Behind every successful man, there's a surprised woman. And if this skydive ever does get off the ground the surprised woman who will be behind me is Nesta Chapman. She was one of the late arrivals and hasn't jumped at all since she arrived. She claims the whole event is a conspiracy to draw patrons for the Bomb Shelter.
had been able to do. The party ended early so we could be on the creeper pad, at 8, in jumpsuits, no exceptions, no excuses.
The day was far from being a write-off as through the day people kept coming up to congratulate me on my performance during the morning dirt dive, and I got to hear the story being told and retold to any of the locals who had missed it. I'm looking forward to being sitting at a fire at a strange dropzone and hearing somebody tell the story of the nutcase that called out the organizers at the big way camp and got them to cough up beer.
When I got out of the shower on Saturday morning Matt asked me if I knew somebody named Tom from the states, and started trying to remember the name of his DZ. I reached into my drawer in the dresser and pulled out my "Endless Mountains Skydiving" T shirt. "That's it!" he said. He had just gotten off the phone with Tom as they discussed a Pilot 168 main that Matt was interested in. When Tom found out where Matt lived he asked "Do you know a guy named Larry?". Notable or notorious, I seem to be remembered everywhere I go. I wonder if Tom's heard the story about the guy at the big way camp yet?
A bunch of the local talent got added to the group Saturday to bring our total to 75. I'm flying the same slot I've been in for what seems like forever. It's at the point where I'd rather be at work, at least then I'd be
accomplishing something. One redeeming part is that my clone on the opposite side of the formation for all the endless dirt dives has been Monique. Apart from being quite nice to look at, we've been making faces at each other, crossing our eyes, and generally trying to make each other laugh and lose concentration. The other fun has been listening to Brian give Michel Lemay, former captain of Evolution, the 3rd ranked 4-way team in the world, advice on how to handle the front float slot. Brian did a great job in that slot the previous week and thought Michel could benefit from his experience in handling a physically demanding, and damn cold, slot. The people who don't know Brian's sense of humor were aghast that anybody would tell Michel how to skydive, with Brian milking it for all he can as he talked later about how he thought "The guy will probably be okay if he does as I told him"
When we went out to the driest field we could find to practice the exit people kept asking me if I was front float, quoting Dan BC's curse from the previous day "You will be front float for the rest of your life, and so will
your children, and your children's children".
It's almost noon, we are again standing by to stand by, wearing jumpsuits, eating, sleeping, napping. Brian has started a pool on what time the lead plane will leave the ground when (if) we finally take off. It's a fifty -
fifty draw at a dollar a head with the winner getting half, and the rest being spent on beer. He only started a short time ago and he's already up to 58 bucks.
Behind every successful man, there's a surprised woman. And if this skydive ever does get off the ground the surprised woman who will be behind me is Nesta Chapman. She was one of the late arrivals and hasn't jumped at all since she arrived. She claims the whole event is a conspiracy to draw patrons for the Bomb Shelter.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Revenge is a dish best served cold
Yesterday I made a mistake that cost everybody on the camp the chance to have their beer bought by Doug Forth. I still feel he set me up for that by leaving me in the same spot on the skydive, but moving me to a different airplane for the ride up. This morning, at 8 o'clock, I extracted my revenge with a style that mere mortals can only dream of duplicating.
Every day Doug would release us with the words: "8 o'clock tomorrow, in jumpsuits on the creeper pad, rain or shine, no excuses, no exceptions."
We all gathered this morning in the rain as instructed, on time at 8, everyone dutifully wearing their jumpsuits. Or I should say, almost everyone. I heard Cindy Jardine, standing behind me say "It's not a good sign when Dan BC isn't wearing his suit." Instantly I was wide awake, and staring at Doug standing with the rest of the organizers, also not wearing a suit.
YES! Here is my chance for revenge being served up on a golden platter in front of the entire camp!
Stepping into the middle of the circle I turned to face the organizers and repeated Doug's words in as loud a voice as I could muster with my laryngitis. "8 AM, in jump suits on the creeper pad, rain or shine, no
excuses, no exceptions!"
There was total silence as the entire group turned to see where I was looking, and realized that the only organizer who was wearing a jumpsuit was Monique Andrie. Raising my arm to point at a startled Doug Forth I shouted "Beer!" And the cheering began. Pointing at Dan BC, one of the pioneers of formation skydiving, a hero and legend to everyone in the sport, I shouted "Beer!" And the cheering, laughter and applause grew. Pointing at Kate Cooper-Jensen, one of the top skydivers on the planet, organizer for more women's and world records than I can count and shouted "Beer!" The crowd went wild. I turned to Tony Domenico, owner of Square 1, and a driving force behind Perris Performance Plus, who was trying unsuccessfully to hide behind a row of skydivers, pointed and yelled "Beer!" I heard Brains voice say "Check Lyall!" The crowd parted so I could see Lyall Waddell, owner of Eden North and a major figure in Canadian Skydiving, sans suit. "Beer!"
Dan Bc immediately produced a 20 dollar bill and asked "Who's the beer cop?"
"I'll take that" I shouted.
"That's for me and Kate," he said.
Tony produced a twenty-dollar bill and said, "that's for me and Kate."
Yes! I'm already up ten bucks.
I got ten bucks from Doug, and when Lyall went to pay me, he produced a five-dollar bill and started pawing through a mitt full of bills looking for another one. I pointed at one of the twenties and said, here, just give me
one of those, and I'll give you ten dollars back. He gave me the twenty, I gave him back the five-dollar bill he gave me and another five-dollar bill and walked away with him doing the math in his head as he came to the
realization that I'd hosed him for five dollars. I also got five dollars each from two other unfortunate skydivers who'd been foolish enough to forget their suits. That gave me a total of seventy-five dollars.
I strode to the middle of crowd and holding my fists above my head demanded "Have I redeemed myself??" And the crowd started to chant "Larry! Larry! Larry!"
I don't care if I don't skydive today, I don't care if I don't skydive again before I leave here. It's been a good day.
Life does not suck.
Doug adjourned us to the Bomb Shelter for a group photo and while we were standing around, Dan BC walked over, stuck out his hand, and said "Congratulations, Larry. My opinion of you went from here", holding his hand out about the level of his head, "to here", he said, reaching up as high as he could. "You'll be
doing front float for the rest of your life, and your children's children will be doing front float for the rest of theirs, but the rules are the rules and we're all working under them and good for you for calling us on them."
"Will there be a note in my file?" I asked.
"Oh yeah," he replied, "you won't be forgotten."
As long as I get to be front float on the world record in Dubai in 2 years I won't mind one bit.
As soon as the group photo was taken, we were released until 10:30, and we made a beeline for Winco and the cheapest beer we could find. We returned to the drop zone on time, to the creeper pad, jumpsuits on, accompanied by a stack of beer. I was half tempted to show up wearing my rig and helmet, visor down, ready to get on a plane. Everybody showed up with jumpsuits, including Doug Forth, who was carrying every jumpsuit he could find.
It's now 11 o'clock and we have been released until noon.
Boredom is the root.....
Boredom is the root of most skydiving injuries.
We have spent an awful lot of time sitting around, waiting for the weather to break. If this was a regular boogie mass stupidity would have broken out long before now. Creeper races, creeper curling and bowling, increasingly complicated accuracy contests that may involve doing hop and pops or maybe just any conveniently nearby tall object. People would be getting towed around behind vehicles on skateboards, bicycles, and of course creepers, which would cause a whole host of pointless and of course dangerous contests to be invented. Somebody would by now have come up with some way to take advantage of all the lakes that cover the DZ using surfboards, boogie boards, or just a piece of plywood. The consumption of alcohol would have commenced by noon, mud wrestling would be a distinct possibility, and by mid afternoon the drop zone would have become a sideshow. The trouble with trouble is that it starts out as fun. At a boogie the safest place to be is usually up in the air. A lot of people would have left to go and explore southern California, visit San Diego or LA.
But not here. We just stand by to stand by, reading, napping, eating, hanging out. This is an organized event, we can't even leave the airport until we have been released for the day.
Woke up Thursday morning to dense fog. We don't get to go back to sleep, we have to be at the airport, on the creeper pad, in jumpsuits, for 8 o'clock. Rain or shine. Period. No exceptions. We go through the planned skydive again, walk the landing areas to see if there are any places you might be able to land and not get completely soaked and muddy, then it's back to reading, napping, eating, hanging out. Around noon the organizers decided it was clearing and worth trying, so we geared up, took off, and climbed to altitude. We circled twice at 16,500 feet, but the clouds had closed in again so we came back down.
Standing by to stand by...........
Finally at 3:30 they called everybody to the creeper pad to go over the dive one last time and add in the people who had been trickling in through the day. Doug posted everybody's slot and a picture of the planned dive, and everybody took their assigned position. Well, almost everybody.
As I explained before, Doug hands out beer fines for committing various infractions, the fine ranging from a six pack for a minor grip error, to a 12 pack for not approaching the formation correctly, to a full case of 24
for doing something really stupid. But if we make it to the end of the day, and he hasn't handed out a single fine, he buys beer for everybody. We were almost at the end of the day, and so far he hadn't handed out a single fine.
And he has never had to buy beer.
We all lined up on the ground in the spots we would be in our plane, with the planes arranged in the "V" shape they would be in on jump run. I had checked the plan carefully, seen that I would be flying the same slot as I
had been assigned on the previous dive, and went to the same place on the same plane as I had been in before. There was lot of confusion though among a group of us as to who was supposed to be exactly where in the plane. After much milling around and getting nowhere, Kate Cooper finally ran back to check the plan, and returned to lay her hand upon my shoulder, look me in the eyes and gently say "You're in the wrong plane darling". At that precise moment I heard a jubilant Doug Forth bellow "LARRY MAULSBY!" as he was
looking at the plan in his hands, and the empty slot in the left trail plane.
Crap!
To peals of laughter from everyone present I sprinted across to my slot to be greeted by Doug, one hand in the air, fist clenched in victory as he pointed at me and shouted "Case of Beer!" He was off the hook.
It so sucks to be me.
I've been sick for the last few days with a cold. It started as a minor sinus problem and has now settled in my chest and throat. I'm finding it difficult to breathe and my throat is like sandpaper. Everybody has been giving various sinus, allergy, and cold medications, prescription and non prescription, in foil backed blister packages that I have been taking in no particular order because the printing on the foil is too small so I can't read them without my glasses so I don't actually know what I'm taking. Deciding a more scientific approach was necessary I talked to the trained medical professional on our team - Diane, she drives an ambulance - and she
closely examined the various medications. She said I should cut back on the white ones and the orange and green ones, stop taking the yellow ones, and that she thought the little orange ones were birth control pills that I could take if I really wanted too. I could have 2 blue ones per day, and all the red ones I wanted, but that I shouldn't take any more of the blue and yellow ones I got from Brian because they were for treating some bizarre infection involving eels he contracted while travelling in the tropics and they would probably make my appendages rot and fall off. I still don't know what's in the rest of the pills I'm still taking but I'm reassured now that I've consulted a pro. Professional, that is.
The forecast for Friday morning is rain. At 8 o'clock we'll be on the creeper pad, in jumpsuits, shivering, coffee in hand, to go through the dive again.
Then it's stand by to stand by.......
We have spent an awful lot of time sitting around, waiting for the weather to break. If this was a regular boogie mass stupidity would have broken out long before now. Creeper races, creeper curling and bowling, increasingly complicated accuracy contests that may involve doing hop and pops or maybe just any conveniently nearby tall object. People would be getting towed around behind vehicles on skateboards, bicycles, and of course creepers, which would cause a whole host of pointless and of course dangerous contests to be invented. Somebody would by now have come up with some way to take advantage of all the lakes that cover the DZ using surfboards, boogie boards, or just a piece of plywood. The consumption of alcohol would have commenced by noon, mud wrestling would be a distinct possibility, and by mid afternoon the drop zone would have become a sideshow. The trouble with trouble is that it starts out as fun. At a boogie the safest place to be is usually up in the air. A lot of people would have left to go and explore southern California, visit San Diego or LA.
But not here. We just stand by to stand by, reading, napping, eating, hanging out. This is an organized event, we can't even leave the airport until we have been released for the day.
Woke up Thursday morning to dense fog. We don't get to go back to sleep, we have to be at the airport, on the creeper pad, in jumpsuits, for 8 o'clock. Rain or shine. Period. No exceptions. We go through the planned skydive again, walk the landing areas to see if there are any places you might be able to land and not get completely soaked and muddy, then it's back to reading, napping, eating, hanging out. Around noon the organizers decided it was clearing and worth trying, so we geared up, took off, and climbed to altitude. We circled twice at 16,500 feet, but the clouds had closed in again so we came back down.
Standing by to stand by...........
Finally at 3:30 they called everybody to the creeper pad to go over the dive one last time and add in the people who had been trickling in through the day. Doug posted everybody's slot and a picture of the planned dive, and everybody took their assigned position. Well, almost everybody.
As I explained before, Doug hands out beer fines for committing various infractions, the fine ranging from a six pack for a minor grip error, to a 12 pack for not approaching the formation correctly, to a full case of 24
for doing something really stupid. But if we make it to the end of the day, and he hasn't handed out a single fine, he buys beer for everybody. We were almost at the end of the day, and so far he hadn't handed out a single fine.
And he has never had to buy beer.
We all lined up on the ground in the spots we would be in our plane, with the planes arranged in the "V" shape they would be in on jump run. I had checked the plan carefully, seen that I would be flying the same slot as I
had been assigned on the previous dive, and went to the same place on the same plane as I had been in before. There was lot of confusion though among a group of us as to who was supposed to be exactly where in the plane. After much milling around and getting nowhere, Kate Cooper finally ran back to check the plan, and returned to lay her hand upon my shoulder, look me in the eyes and gently say "You're in the wrong plane darling". At that precise moment I heard a jubilant Doug Forth bellow "LARRY MAULSBY!" as he was
looking at the plan in his hands, and the empty slot in the left trail plane.
Crap!
To peals of laughter from everyone present I sprinted across to my slot to be greeted by Doug, one hand in the air, fist clenched in victory as he pointed at me and shouted "Case of Beer!" He was off the hook.
It so sucks to be me.
I've been sick for the last few days with a cold. It started as a minor sinus problem and has now settled in my chest and throat. I'm finding it difficult to breathe and my throat is like sandpaper. Everybody has been giving various sinus, allergy, and cold medications, prescription and non prescription, in foil backed blister packages that I have been taking in no particular order because the printing on the foil is too small so I can't read them without my glasses so I don't actually know what I'm taking. Deciding a more scientific approach was necessary I talked to the trained medical professional on our team - Diane, she drives an ambulance - and she
closely examined the various medications. She said I should cut back on the white ones and the orange and green ones, stop taking the yellow ones, and that she thought the little orange ones were birth control pills that I could take if I really wanted too. I could have 2 blue ones per day, and all the red ones I wanted, but that I shouldn't take any more of the blue and yellow ones I got from Brian because they were for treating some bizarre infection involving eels he contracted while travelling in the tropics and they would probably make my appendages rot and fall off. I still don't know what's in the rest of the pills I'm still taking but I'm reassured now that I've consulted a pro. Professional, that is.
The forecast for Friday morning is rain. At 8 o'clock we'll be on the creeper pad, in jumpsuits, shivering, coffee in hand, to go through the dive again.
Then it's stand by to stand by.......
Thursday, March 24, 2011
It never rains in California......
"It never rains in California,
But girl, don't they warn ya,
It pours, man it pours......"
Brian solved the problem of the toxic booties by putting the suit into the truck for the night, which left me choking and gasping when I borrowed the truck in the morning to do a quick errand. He should have left it in the Motel office to try and get even with the motel manager who is rationing our towels and toilet paper.
I've been verbally sparring with Johnny for 10 days now, the two us constantly trading friendly barbs, taunts, and insults. I thought he had been gaining the upper hand until we were on the drive in this morning and he said he thought I was coming out on top. A truce was immediately declared and we shook hands. Then I told him I had coughed on my hand before I offered it, and he replied "That wasn't hand cream on mine!" The armistice was over, war was again declared, hostilities resumed, and the insults began afresh. Johnny opened fire with "And if I did get smart with you, how would you know?" I returned fire with a Newfoundland curse: "Yer mudder shoulda eaten you when yer bones was still soft!" There, everything's back to normal, balance has been restored in the universe. When they get finished bombing Libya back into the stone age I'll see if I can get a couple 'a guys to swing by Johnny's place and drop a couple of laser guided bombs down his chimney. That'll learn 'im!
Wilmar was briefly the most popular guy on the DZ this morning after getting the bright idea to warm up his gloves and sweater in the dryer. A bunch of us gladly threw our stuff in as well which helped, however briefly, to ward off the 3 degree temperatures.
When we went up for the first jump the pilot finally seemed to be getting the oxygen system figured out. The day before when he opened it up he had the pressure high enough to inflate the tires on my truck. The lucky people had the hoses blow out of their helmets, and the unlucky ones had their cheeks puffed out like chipmunks. The best part was the people who thought it was supposed to be like that, so they kept stuffing the hoses back into their mouths, only to have their cheeks inflate and the hoses blow out again.
The dive went well except for one person who went way, way, low. I thought it was Herb, who was going to be docking on my leg, so he scared the crap out of me when he came up behind me and took my grip. Don't know who sank out but it wasn't me. The second dive was another very successful one, but we were put on a weather hold when clouds moved in around 11, and after spending a few hours hanging out the DZ closed for the day and we commenced drinking a whole 4 hours ahead of our normal schedule. It's pouring rain again and the lakes will no doubt be even larger tomorrow, and the landing area's smaller. Everybody looks like their suits are patterned with tie-dyed dirt and grass stains already and it will just get worse.
It looks like no matter what we do we will not get in all the planned jumps so we will be getting some money back. We will have learned a lot, but no matter how much we learn, we will not be setting a record. We will come up at least 5 Canadians short. The weather has also not been very cooperative, there has already been a whole years worth of rain here, it poured again last night, and it's cold and foggy outside this morning. No early load today.
Standing by to stand by.......
But girl, don't they warn ya,
It pours, man it pours......"
Brian solved the problem of the toxic booties by putting the suit into the truck for the night, which left me choking and gasping when I borrowed the truck in the morning to do a quick errand. He should have left it in the Motel office to try and get even with the motel manager who is rationing our towels and toilet paper.
I've been verbally sparring with Johnny for 10 days now, the two us constantly trading friendly barbs, taunts, and insults. I thought he had been gaining the upper hand until we were on the drive in this morning and he said he thought I was coming out on top. A truce was immediately declared and we shook hands. Then I told him I had coughed on my hand before I offered it, and he replied "That wasn't hand cream on mine!" The armistice was over, war was again declared, hostilities resumed, and the insults began afresh. Johnny opened fire with "And if I did get smart with you, how would you know?" I returned fire with a Newfoundland curse: "Yer mudder shoulda eaten you when yer bones was still soft!" There, everything's back to normal, balance has been restored in the universe. When they get finished bombing Libya back into the stone age I'll see if I can get a couple 'a guys to swing by Johnny's place and drop a couple of laser guided bombs down his chimney. That'll learn 'im!
Wilmar was briefly the most popular guy on the DZ this morning after getting the bright idea to warm up his gloves and sweater in the dryer. A bunch of us gladly threw our stuff in as well which helped, however briefly, to ward off the 3 degree temperatures.
When we went up for the first jump the pilot finally seemed to be getting the oxygen system figured out. The day before when he opened it up he had the pressure high enough to inflate the tires on my truck. The lucky people had the hoses blow out of their helmets, and the unlucky ones had their cheeks puffed out like chipmunks. The best part was the people who thought it was supposed to be like that, so they kept stuffing the hoses back into their mouths, only to have their cheeks inflate and the hoses blow out again.
The dive went well except for one person who went way, way, low. I thought it was Herb, who was going to be docking on my leg, so he scared the crap out of me when he came up behind me and took my grip. Don't know who sank out but it wasn't me. The second dive was another very successful one, but we were put on a weather hold when clouds moved in around 11, and after spending a few hours hanging out the DZ closed for the day and we commenced drinking a whole 4 hours ahead of our normal schedule. It's pouring rain again and the lakes will no doubt be even larger tomorrow, and the landing area's smaller. Everybody looks like their suits are patterned with tie-dyed dirt and grass stains already and it will just get worse.
It looks like no matter what we do we will not get in all the planned jumps so we will be getting some money back. We will have learned a lot, but no matter how much we learn, we will not be setting a record. We will come up at least 5 Canadians short. The weather has also not been very cooperative, there has already been a whole years worth of rain here, it poured again last night, and it's cold and foggy outside this morning. No early load today.
Standing by to stand by.......
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
"By the time we get out...."
"By the time we get out, it will be way past good."
That was Monique Andrie commenting on exit timing between groups when we went to do some fun jumps.
Johnny Larue went off to see a massage therapist for a quick rub and tug (You want happy ending?) before we left for the party. He'd pulled a muscle playing in the icy surf the day before. I asked him to pick me up a bottle of wine on the way back, which is how he wound up giving me some Gnarly Head. Yes, I know, you're thinking I've hit rock bottom and have started to dig, but that's just the name of a red wine made in Lodi that he likes. The party went into the wee hours of the night and continued after we returned to the hotel. I have no clear recollection of anything after we left the party but I do vaguely recall running around on the walkway outside our second story room wearing less clothing than I should have. But it was blue underwear so maybe I was just having a flashback to the party in Elsinore.
After we were released yesterday we went sober shopping for a change and actually bought something other than junk food and beer. More warm clothing and extra shoes for when the rain finally stops.
We've learned lots, and it's really starting to all come together for me. I've just forgotten where I put it. It's noon Tuesday and we've been stood down for weather for the last 2 days and some of the stuff I've learned has faded a little, but I've probably still got most of the important stuff. Torrential rain has left lakes and mud puddles everywhere. We've been here since 8 this morning and went so far as to gear up for a jump before the clouds closed in again and we stood back down. Standing By to Stand By.
After sitting around, napping, eating, reading, and trading lies about our accomplishments at previous events for several hours the organizers took anybody who was interested up in smaller groups for some fun jumps through the holes in the clouds.
We went up with Doug and had a rockin' 9 way, with Monique's group following us out as the second group on the plane. She called it right, because of a long spot due to clouds our group just made the far end of the airport, and hers was scattered all over the neighboring county. When we got down they put us on a short call for the 45-way as the clouds were finally breaking up enough to allow large groups to safely track away from each other after the jump.
This was the dive we started dirt diving 2 and a half days ago, and it was a spectacular success. A lot of these people have come a long way in a very short time. We were using 2 Otters and a Skyvan, I was rear float on the right trail Otter and the instant I saw the super floater come off the Van we were gone. The base launched off the Van an instant later, and I just slid sideways 20 feet and was exactly where I wanted to be. I had to wait about 20 seconds for the people who were supposed to be in front of me to arrive. The plan was to not complete it on the first try, but it was flying so well we almost built it. The second attempt worked almost as well, until I suddenly started sinking out just when I was about to take my grip and I found myself 10 feet low and nothing I could do could bring me back up. I got as big as I could, de-arched, turned my booties sideways, twisted my head sideways to make it's cross section bigger, sucked in my stomach, rolled my shoulders forward, flared my nostrils, wiggled my ears, imagined myself as a big balloon, all to no avail. I was still low.
It so sucked to be me.
Doug didn't say anything during the debrief, I was waiting for him to call me out, but somehow I slid past him.
The third and last dive of the day made all our effort worthwhile. A complete 45 way formation, the biggest that about half the people on the load had ever been on. My side all made it's slots so fast that John had to swim up through the formation to get to his place. He patiently worked his way up, politely tapping people as he went to get their attention and motion them out of his way. I could almost hear him saying "Excuse me, beg your pardon, coming through." as he went past.
And the peasants rejoiced.
After dinner we returned to the hotel to discover that Brian had decided to take up glue sniffing as a side hobby to the skydiving and power drinking that we'd been working at so hard all week. He had spent the evening covering the booties on his new suit with Shoe Goo, and when we opened the door we were treated to a toxic wave of fumes. I'm glad I'm not sleeping in that room, and I'll bet they all show up with headaches on Wednesday
Wednesday is supposed to be our day off but we're behind schedule so we're going to just carry on as if we were normal and keep jumping.
That was Monique Andrie commenting on exit timing between groups when we went to do some fun jumps.
Johnny Larue went off to see a massage therapist for a quick rub and tug (You want happy ending?) before we left for the party. He'd pulled a muscle playing in the icy surf the day before. I asked him to pick me up a bottle of wine on the way back, which is how he wound up giving me some Gnarly Head. Yes, I know, you're thinking I've hit rock bottom and have started to dig, but that's just the name of a red wine made in Lodi that he likes. The party went into the wee hours of the night and continued after we returned to the hotel. I have no clear recollection of anything after we left the party but I do vaguely recall running around on the walkway outside our second story room wearing less clothing than I should have. But it was blue underwear so maybe I was just having a flashback to the party in Elsinore.
After we were released yesterday we went sober shopping for a change and actually bought something other than junk food and beer. More warm clothing and extra shoes for when the rain finally stops.
We've learned lots, and it's really starting to all come together for me. I've just forgotten where I put it. It's noon Tuesday and we've been stood down for weather for the last 2 days and some of the stuff I've learned has faded a little, but I've probably still got most of the important stuff. Torrential rain has left lakes and mud puddles everywhere. We've been here since 8 this morning and went so far as to gear up for a jump before the clouds closed in again and we stood back down. Standing By to Stand By.
After sitting around, napping, eating, reading, and trading lies about our accomplishments at previous events for several hours the organizers took anybody who was interested up in smaller groups for some fun jumps through the holes in the clouds.
We went up with Doug and had a rockin' 9 way, with Monique's group following us out as the second group on the plane. She called it right, because of a long spot due to clouds our group just made the far end of the airport, and hers was scattered all over the neighboring county. When we got down they put us on a short call for the 45-way as the clouds were finally breaking up enough to allow large groups to safely track away from each other after the jump.
This was the dive we started dirt diving 2 and a half days ago, and it was a spectacular success. A lot of these people have come a long way in a very short time. We were using 2 Otters and a Skyvan, I was rear float on the right trail Otter and the instant I saw the super floater come off the Van we were gone. The base launched off the Van an instant later, and I just slid sideways 20 feet and was exactly where I wanted to be. I had to wait about 20 seconds for the people who were supposed to be in front of me to arrive. The plan was to not complete it on the first try, but it was flying so well we almost built it. The second attempt worked almost as well, until I suddenly started sinking out just when I was about to take my grip and I found myself 10 feet low and nothing I could do could bring me back up. I got as big as I could, de-arched, turned my booties sideways, twisted my head sideways to make it's cross section bigger, sucked in my stomach, rolled my shoulders forward, flared my nostrils, wiggled my ears, imagined myself as a big balloon, all to no avail. I was still low.
It so sucked to be me.
Doug didn't say anything during the debrief, I was waiting for him to call me out, but somehow I slid past him.
The third and last dive of the day made all our effort worthwhile. A complete 45 way formation, the biggest that about half the people on the load had ever been on. My side all made it's slots so fast that John had to swim up through the formation to get to his place. He patiently worked his way up, politely tapping people as he went to get their attention and motion them out of his way. I could almost hear him saying "Excuse me, beg your pardon, coming through." as he went past.
And the peasants rejoiced.
After dinner we returned to the hotel to discover that Brian had decided to take up glue sniffing as a side hobby to the skydiving and power drinking that we'd been working at so hard all week. He had spent the evening covering the booties on his new suit with Shoe Goo, and when we opened the door we were treated to a toxic wave of fumes. I'm glad I'm not sleeping in that room, and I'll bet they all show up with headaches on Wednesday
Wednesday is supposed to be our day off but we're behind schedule so we're going to just carry on as if we were normal and keep jumping.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
The mark of a good party...
The mark of a good party is that you wake up the next morning wanting to
change your name and start again life in a different city.
It would seem that the Royal Air Force 4 way team decided to get a head
start on that by going to the far side of the planet to go to the party. The
first time I laid eyes on them yesterday they were dancing in a chorus line
on a picnic table in the bar at Skydive Elsinore. They were well muscled,
heavily tattooed, wearing thong bikini's and tiara's. The Swedish freefly
team was wearing women's summer dresses, and some other country's national
team was wearing pajamas. Women's pajamas of course.
We had stopped in at Elsinore on our way back from the coast on our day off
after spending the day walking the beach and watching Johnny and some
porpoises frolic in the freezing cold water. The drive alone made the whole
trip worthwhile. We circled around Lake Elsinore and climbed into the
mountains on highway 74, a piece of road that rivaled anything I've driven
in the Gatineau or even Tennessee. The straight stretches were measured in
double digits of yards, the road clinging to side of the mountain with
constant corners and elevation changes. I was actually starting to get
motion sickness in the first couple of miles.
When we finally came out the far side and turned onto the Pacific Coast
Highway the view was spectacular. We cruised the highway, found a beach and
chilled out for a while before catching the ferry to Balboa island for
dinner.
It was around 9 o'clock that we pulled into Skydive Elsinore on our way
home. We'd been old when we were at Perris earlier in the day that there
would be a party that night, and that the theme was "blue". What that meant
wasn't explained. We walked into the bar in Elsinore to a scene of
debauchery that equaled anything I've ever seen at the Freefall Convention,
and would have made Hunter Thompson proud. People were dressed as blue
stuffed animals, Smurffs, blue Crayola crayons, blue M&M's, the Blues
Brothers, Umpaloompas and Thing 1 and Thing 2 from Dr. Zuess, a giant penis
with enormous blue balls, and they were the conservative ones. There was
lots of underwear, lingerie, and hooker shoes, usually worn by the opposite
gender than the one you would traditionally see it on, and the DZ owner was
dressed as a young Elvis with a blue boa and an enormous mug in the shape of
a woman's breast. Everybody was dancing, jumping, leaping, singing, yelling,
screaming, and laughing. Boys will be boys, so will a lot of middle aged
men, and they were all wearing blue women's clothing as they danced and
gyrated to loud rock and roll in the bar at Skydive Elsinore.
It was only 9 o'clock! These people were trashed!
I felt right at home.
For $5 we bought wristbands that gave us unlimited refills on draught beer
at the bar and away we went. They were already into the 4th keg when we got
there and there was no sign of them slowing down. The ceiling of the bar was
decorated with old surfboards, highway signs, aircraft wreckage, and
hundreds and hundreds of liquor bottles. Diane wound up talking to the
owners girlfriend who was trying to convince us to bring our whole camp down
to Elsinore to join the party. After she spent some time babbling about the
Queen and skydiving Diane set about convincing her that the Queen was
actually a base jumper and wouldn't come to this kind of event. I think she
bought it. It was just that kind of party.
It's really too bad we were scheduled to jump the next morning, none of us
wanted to leave. Judging by the momentum that party had going it was
probably still going strong the next morning while we were standing out in a
field shivering during our dirt dive. They kicked us loose around 12:30
because of low ceilings and expected showers. We went straight to the
parking lot and started in on the case of beer I had thrown into the back of
the truck. Which inevitably led to...... yup, you guessed it, more drunk
shopping at Winco.
Everybody has been invited to a bar-b-q at a house being rented by a bunch
of the people on the camp. It will probably run late since we don't have to
be at the DZ until 10:00 tomorrow.
This place sucks. I'm never coming back. I'm having no fun at all.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
What if we threw a skydive.....?
What if we threw a skydive.....?
What if we threw a skydive, and nobody came? Might sound like a stupid
question, but I'm pretty sure something like that was going through Doug
Forth's mind after they launched the 10 way base out of the Skyvan, and not
a single one of us 10 divers from the trail plane showed up. We all climbed
out and got ready to go, but we hadn't gotten the light to open the door
until after the base had already launched from the lead aircraft. We never
saw them. Lyle suddenly ordered everybody to climb back into the plane and
in the confusion with all the pushing and shoving I fell down and had
several people walk across me as they tried to move up inside the plane.
Bret decided it was time for somebody to take charge and suddenly put
himself nose to nose with Kim and shouted "Sit down and relax!" Kim was
already sitting down and seemed pretty relaxed to me. At least, she was
until Brett started shouting at her. Somebody needed to relax, but I don't
think it was her. That's when the pilot shouted back: "Why didn't you
leave?" Oops! We weren't about to go back down and land with the plane so
Lyle hastily organized a 10-way Speed Star, and giggling and laughing like
children we dove out on one of the most fun skydives we've done since we got
here.
The day had been going well until then. I spent the day in the trail plane
and since I was the last person of the second group diving out I had a great
view of the first group when they left the other plane just 50 feet above
and 50 feet to our right. On one jump while I was looking across at the 4
people clinging to the side of the plane Wilmar suddenly dropped off all by
himself. All 4 people are supposed to leave at the same time. A half second
later another one left, then Dan BC left, and that left Alain Bard flapping
like a piñata in the slipstream as the first row of divers inside dove out
past him. So much for leaving as a group. They built the formation, but I'm
pretty sure there were a few cases of beer paid for that exit. A couple of
times I was looking out the side window when suddenly all those bodies would
go screaming past. First the base goes by as one chunk, and then another 6 people
diving and chasing it like bullets. Head up, arms swept back and out to
their sides, legs straight, looking like birds of prey going for the kill. I remember
watching Alain Bard go past, easily recognized by his red helmet, and wishing I was with him.
There's some bad weather coming so even though we've done the first camps
allotment of jumps we're going to keep going for the rest of the day and get
in as many as we can. Just before I left Ottawa, Josee solemnly told me to
"Keep an eye on the kids'. (Kim and Mathieu) They're a couple of junior
jumpers from home, and we're sharing a room. They doing just fine all on
their own. Matt's been a rock star today, getting repeatedly singled out in
the debriefs as an example of what to do. His skills are leaping ahead.
Kim's been doing just as well. She's had a few problems with landings
though, we're 1200 feet higher than she's used to landing at so her canopy
is faster to begin with, and she's also wearing all the weight she can fit
into 2 belts so she can fall fast enough to stay with the big boys. Those 2
factors combine to make all 90 pounds of her come in like a world class
swooper going for a speed record.
We finally broke the cycle of finishing the day by drinking all the penalty
beer, getting something to eat and drinking more beer, and then going drunk
grocery shopping at Winco. Instead we went drunk shopping at Walgreens for a
change of pace. They didn't sell beer, but I was able to get a king-sized
bottle of 400 tablets of Naproxen Sodium (Aleve) for $24.99. That would have
cost a small fortune back home, and the savings should cover my hotel bill not to
mention make me quite popular with the rest of the campers as the
damage and bruises begins to accumulate.
We're constantly being moved in and out of slots, from the base all the way
back to last diver. Every skydive has people scurrying back and forth
swapping belts, suits, adding or removing lead weights, putting on or taking
off T shirts or sweatshirts over their suits to either add mass or drag to
speed up or slow down as needed. I loaned out my slow suit to Kurt, who was
always going low. On one dive we were supposed to be tracking away side by
side. But with all the extra lift he got from my suit I was treated to the
sight of being out tracked by my own suit! He even gained about 100 feet of
altitude on me! I'm tempted to take it back and tell him to go naked but I'm
counting on being able to blame any of my mistakes on him during the
debriefs.
I managed to out track him on the next jump and had a great big grin on my
face when I stopped, waved off, and reached in to pull my pilot chute. The
next thing I knew I was on my back, spinning violently and accelerating as I
watched the horizon flash past my feet. Major Line Twists! I reached up,
grabbed the risers and pulled with every single shred of strength I could
summon up and started kicking like crazy as I tried to unwind my lines. It
started to unwind, and as the canopy dove faster and faster it became a race
as to what I would run out of first: nerve, or altitude. I was talking to
Nick afterwards and he said that he was screaming "Chop it! Chop it!" inside
his helmet as I spiraled down past him. At 1000 feet I suddenly snapped out
of it and leveled off, just a split second before I gave up and reached for
my handles. 2,370 Skydives, and still no cutaway! Trevor better not be
counting on me to be making him a gift of his favorite party beverage for
saving my life, I've got horseshoes up my ass and may never have to find out
if his reserve pack jobs work. Besides, it's only the 3rd day, I wouldn't
want to have to stand down to get my gear repacked.
Herb from new Brunswick did cutaway on that load, and his main landed in one
of the huge muddy puddles that are scattered through the landing area. His
rigger will be enjoying a bottle of his favorite top shelf liquor.
As the day went on I thought through the math of my near cut away. I reached
for my pilot chute at exactly 3,000 feet, it couldn't have been more than 7
or 8 seconds before I came out of the spin at 1,000 feet, which means I was
coming down at about the same speed as if I was in freefall. I was about 5
seconds from being a dust cloud in the California desert, and only had a
second or two left in which to change that. Maybe I exaggerate, because if I
had been coming down that fast my Cypress should have fired and blown out my
reserve, which with my main already out may have just tangled and I still
would have gone in. Either way, dead is dead. Hmmmmm. Okay. Next time, I'm
going after the handles a lot sooner, and Trevor will be getting an extra
large bottle of Grand Marnier.
For the last 2 jumps of the day they put both groups together for some 40
ways. On the first one about half the people seemed to forget all the
lessons they had learned and had been applying so well. It wasn't pretty,
but it didn't funnel, and no beer penalties were assessed. On the second one
everybody did a much better job. Except for me. I dove out, went delta and
screamed down into the perfect spot to approach my slot, and after staring
at it for about 5 seconds realized I was on the wrong side of the formation.
I went into a wicked side slide and bobbed and weaving around all the people
who were where they were supposed to be, went tearing around to the opposite
side, finally getting to where I should have been. I went into the debrief
convinced the whole thing had been caught on video but it happened just out
of frame. I felt so guilty I coughed up ten bucks to the beer cop even
though nobody had noticed my sin.
Saturday is our day off and the Winnipeg crew has invited me to go down to
Skydive Elsinore with them. We just want to do one jump, buy a T shirt, and
then head out to the coast. Drive the Pacific Coast Highway, maybe find a
beach and relax for a while. More Canadians are showing up tomorrow, but it
looks like they won't have enough to make a record. They have exactly 60
people registered, so as long as nobody gets cut because of ability or
safety concerns, or drops out due to injuries, it is possible that we could
set a new Canandian record, but it's a long shot. Oh well, I'm just here for
the beer.
What if we threw a skydive, and nobody came? Might sound like a stupid
question, but I'm pretty sure something like that was going through Doug
Forth's mind after they launched the 10 way base out of the Skyvan, and not
a single one of us 10 divers from the trail plane showed up. We all climbed
out and got ready to go, but we hadn't gotten the light to open the door
until after the base had already launched from the lead aircraft. We never
saw them. Lyle suddenly ordered everybody to climb back into the plane and
in the confusion with all the pushing and shoving I fell down and had
several people walk across me as they tried to move up inside the plane.
Bret decided it was time for somebody to take charge and suddenly put
himself nose to nose with Kim and shouted "Sit down and relax!" Kim was
already sitting down and seemed pretty relaxed to me. At least, she was
until Brett started shouting at her. Somebody needed to relax, but I don't
think it was her. That's when the pilot shouted back: "Why didn't you
leave?" Oops! We weren't about to go back down and land with the plane so
Lyle hastily organized a 10-way Speed Star, and giggling and laughing like
children we dove out on one of the most fun skydives we've done since we got
here.
The day had been going well until then. I spent the day in the trail plane
and since I was the last person of the second group diving out I had a great
view of the first group when they left the other plane just 50 feet above
and 50 feet to our right. On one jump while I was looking across at the 4
people clinging to the side of the plane Wilmar suddenly dropped off all by
himself. All 4 people are supposed to leave at the same time. A half second
later another one left, then Dan BC left, and that left Alain Bard flapping
like a piñata in the slipstream as the first row of divers inside dove out
past him. So much for leaving as a group. They built the formation, but I'm
pretty sure there were a few cases of beer paid for that exit. A couple of
times I was looking out the side window when suddenly all those bodies would
go screaming past. First the base goes by as one chunk, and then another 6 people
diving and chasing it like bullets. Head up, arms swept back and out to
their sides, legs straight, looking like birds of prey going for the kill. I remember
watching Alain Bard go past, easily recognized by his red helmet, and wishing I was with him.
There's some bad weather coming so even though we've done the first camps
allotment of jumps we're going to keep going for the rest of the day and get
in as many as we can. Just before I left Ottawa, Josee solemnly told me to
"Keep an eye on the kids'. (Kim and Mathieu) They're a couple of junior
jumpers from home, and we're sharing a room. They doing just fine all on
their own. Matt's been a rock star today, getting repeatedly singled out in
the debriefs as an example of what to do. His skills are leaping ahead.
Kim's been doing just as well. She's had a few problems with landings
though, we're 1200 feet higher than she's used to landing at so her canopy
is faster to begin with, and she's also wearing all the weight she can fit
into 2 belts so she can fall fast enough to stay with the big boys. Those 2
factors combine to make all 90 pounds of her come in like a world class
swooper going for a speed record.
We finally broke the cycle of finishing the day by drinking all the penalty
beer, getting something to eat and drinking more beer, and then going drunk
grocery shopping at Winco. Instead we went drunk shopping at Walgreens for a
change of pace. They didn't sell beer, but I was able to get a king-sized
bottle of 400 tablets of Naproxen Sodium (Aleve) for $24.99. That would have
cost a small fortune back home, and the savings should cover my hotel bill not to
mention make me quite popular with the rest of the campers as the
damage and bruises begins to accumulate.
We're constantly being moved in and out of slots, from the base all the way
back to last diver. Every skydive has people scurrying back and forth
swapping belts, suits, adding or removing lead weights, putting on or taking
off T shirts or sweatshirts over their suits to either add mass or drag to
speed up or slow down as needed. I loaned out my slow suit to Kurt, who was
always going low. On one dive we were supposed to be tracking away side by
side. But with all the extra lift he got from my suit I was treated to the
sight of being out tracked by my own suit! He even gained about 100 feet of
altitude on me! I'm tempted to take it back and tell him to go naked but I'm
counting on being able to blame any of my mistakes on him during the
debriefs.
I managed to out track him on the next jump and had a great big grin on my
face when I stopped, waved off, and reached in to pull my pilot chute. The
next thing I knew I was on my back, spinning violently and accelerating as I
watched the horizon flash past my feet. Major Line Twists! I reached up,
grabbed the risers and pulled with every single shred of strength I could
summon up and started kicking like crazy as I tried to unwind my lines. It
started to unwind, and as the canopy dove faster and faster it became a race
as to what I would run out of first: nerve, or altitude. I was talking to
Nick afterwards and he said that he was screaming "Chop it! Chop it!" inside
his helmet as I spiraled down past him. At 1000 feet I suddenly snapped out
of it and leveled off, just a split second before I gave up and reached for
my handles. 2,370 Skydives, and still no cutaway! Trevor better not be
counting on me to be making him a gift of his favorite party beverage for
saving my life, I've got horseshoes up my ass and may never have to find out
if his reserve pack jobs work. Besides, it's only the 3rd day, I wouldn't
want to have to stand down to get my gear repacked.
Herb from new Brunswick did cutaway on that load, and his main landed in one
of the huge muddy puddles that are scattered through the landing area. His
rigger will be enjoying a bottle of his favorite top shelf liquor.
As the day went on I thought through the math of my near cut away. I reached
for my pilot chute at exactly 3,000 feet, it couldn't have been more than 7
or 8 seconds before I came out of the spin at 1,000 feet, which means I was
coming down at about the same speed as if I was in freefall. I was about 5
seconds from being a dust cloud in the California desert, and only had a
second or two left in which to change that. Maybe I exaggerate, because if I
had been coming down that fast my Cypress should have fired and blown out my
reserve, which with my main already out may have just tangled and I still
would have gone in. Either way, dead is dead. Hmmmmm. Okay. Next time, I'm
going after the handles a lot sooner, and Trevor will be getting an extra
large bottle of Grand Marnier.
For the last 2 jumps of the day they put both groups together for some 40
ways. On the first one about half the people seemed to forget all the
lessons they had learned and had been applying so well. It wasn't pretty,
but it didn't funnel, and no beer penalties were assessed. On the second one
everybody did a much better job. Except for me. I dove out, went delta and
screamed down into the perfect spot to approach my slot, and after staring
at it for about 5 seconds realized I was on the wrong side of the formation.
I went into a wicked side slide and bobbed and weaving around all the people
who were where they were supposed to be, went tearing around to the opposite
side, finally getting to where I should have been. I went into the debrief
convinced the whole thing had been caught on video but it happened just out
of frame. I felt so guilty I coughed up ten bucks to the beer cop even
though nobody had noticed my sin.
Saturday is our day off and the Winnipeg crew has invited me to go down to
Skydive Elsinore with them. We just want to do one jump, buy a T shirt, and
then head out to the coast. Drive the Pacific Coast Highway, maybe find a
beach and relax for a while. More Canadians are showing up tomorrow, but it
looks like they won't have enough to make a record. They have exactly 60
people registered, so as long as nobody gets cut because of ability or
safety concerns, or drops out due to injuries, it is possible that we could
set a new Canandian record, but it's a long shot. Oh well, I'm just here for
the beer.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Beer is proof ......
"Beer is proof that god wants us to be happy."
Benjamin Franklin
If that's the way ya wanna measure it, then everybody here must be very,
very, very, happy.
I went for groceries with the Winnipeg crew the first night we got here. We
went to one of the meganormous American grocery stores that sells everything
from lawn furniture to fresh fruit. It probably would have turned out okay
except that we had already been drinking heavily at the Bomb Shelter (the DZ
bar) by the time we went in there, and consequently when we left all that we
had bought was a couple of grocery carts full of junk food and beer. At
least we're in the states so the only thing cheaper than the junk food is
the beer. We did a couple of jumps yesterday, then after hitting the Bomb
Shelter again, we returned to the grocery store to get some real food, but
wound up buying more junk food and beer. We started the camp this morning,
and one of the first things Doug Forth did was appoint a Beer Cop. When
anybody makes a serious error or breach of etiquette, or achieves a
significant milestone, he imposes a fine that is to be paid in beer. He
calls it "The Nectar Of Knowledge". That's 'cause at the end of the day
everybody hangs out, drinks beer, swaps skydiving stories, and much learning
takes place. At the end of the day there were a dozen cases of beer lined up
along the platform they were using as a podium. But we weren't allowed to
have any until the last planeload of skydivers for the day had left the
ground, so as soon as we were released for the day we went straight to the
bomb shelter and..........
Notice a pattern developing? Around here dinner doesn't get served, it gets
poured. "There's a pork chop in every bottle!" Declared Brian after he had
consumed the equivalent of one whole side of a pig.
It's now Thursday morning. And it's St Patricks day. This probably won't end
well.
Oh yeah, it seems such a minor thing I almost forgot: we also did some
skydives. With varying degrees of success. I did my part, I flew my slot,
mostly, and to my great surprise nobody tried to kill me. Yet. The turnout
is low because a bunch of people dropped off the camp after St Esprit
announced that they would be making an attempt at setting a record this
summer. In theory there will be just enough people here to set a record, but
some people who are here probably won't be capable of it even after the
camp. We spent the day doing 20-ways using 2 aircraft. 10 People would get
on each Otter, we'd climb to altitude, everbody would pile out and meet in
the middle to attempt to build a formation. I stress the word attempt. By
the end of the day it wasn't going too bad, but a few people were still
having trouble not sinking out.
The most interesting development was back home. Every time I leave on one of
these trips I give strict instructions to the staff to burn the place to the
ground while I'm gone. Then I could just continue merrily along, skydiving
my way through the insurance money. Beechwood Home Hardware burned to the
ground yesterday, taking most of the city block with it. Somebody must have
misunderstood my instructions.
Benjamin Franklin
If that's the way ya wanna measure it, then everybody here must be very,
very, very, happy.
I went for groceries with the Winnipeg crew the first night we got here. We
went to one of the meganormous American grocery stores that sells everything
from lawn furniture to fresh fruit. It probably would have turned out okay
except that we had already been drinking heavily at the Bomb Shelter (the DZ
bar) by the time we went in there, and consequently when we left all that we
had bought was a couple of grocery carts full of junk food and beer. At
least we're in the states so the only thing cheaper than the junk food is
the beer. We did a couple of jumps yesterday, then after hitting the Bomb
Shelter again, we returned to the grocery store to get some real food, but
wound up buying more junk food and beer. We started the camp this morning,
and one of the first things Doug Forth did was appoint a Beer Cop. When
anybody makes a serious error or breach of etiquette, or achieves a
significant milestone, he imposes a fine that is to be paid in beer. He
calls it "The Nectar Of Knowledge". That's 'cause at the end of the day
everybody hangs out, drinks beer, swaps skydiving stories, and much learning
takes place. At the end of the day there were a dozen cases of beer lined up
along the platform they were using as a podium. But we weren't allowed to
have any until the last planeload of skydivers for the day had left the
ground, so as soon as we were released for the day we went straight to the
bomb shelter and..........
Notice a pattern developing? Around here dinner doesn't get served, it gets
poured. "There's a pork chop in every bottle!" Declared Brian after he had
consumed the equivalent of one whole side of a pig.
It's now Thursday morning. And it's St Patricks day. This probably won't end
well.
Oh yeah, it seems such a minor thing I almost forgot: we also did some
skydives. With varying degrees of success. I did my part, I flew my slot,
mostly, and to my great surprise nobody tried to kill me. Yet. The turnout
is low because a bunch of people dropped off the camp after St Esprit
announced that they would be making an attempt at setting a record this
summer. In theory there will be just enough people here to set a record, but
some people who are here probably won't be capable of it even after the
camp. We spent the day doing 20-ways using 2 aircraft. 10 People would get
on each Otter, we'd climb to altitude, everbody would pile out and meet in
the middle to attempt to build a formation. I stress the word attempt. By
the end of the day it wasn't going too bad, but a few people were still
having trouble not sinking out.
The most interesting development was back home. Every time I leave on one of
these trips I give strict instructions to the staff to burn the place to the
ground while I'm gone. Then I could just continue merrily along, skydiving
my way through the insurance money. Beechwood Home Hardware burned to the
ground yesterday, taking most of the city block with it. Somebody must have
misunderstood my instructions.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
"Just remember: They're all out to kill you"
Those were the sage words of advice imparted to me by Christine Fouchard, my drop zone's mother hen, just before I departed to attend my first boogie. I'm a couple of feet taller than her so she was looking almost straight up at me as she delivered that line and emphasized it by shaking her finger in my face. She went on to say: "They don't know you, they won't care about you, and none of them is going to go and explain to your mother why you're not coming home!" That last part was accompanied by her stomping her foot as she continued to shake her finger at me. I didn't take her seriously, obviously she was overstating the case. Or so I thought. Then I got to that first boogie and sure enough a whole bunch of people I had never met before and whom I had never given any reason to want me dead spent the whole weekend doing everything possible to get me killed. Or so it seemed. I spent two days with people landing on me, dive bombing me, hitting me from behind, sliding under me and stealing my air, docking on me and dragging me out of position, or docking on me and shoving me into everyone in front of me. I was kicked, punched, choked, and they took turns trying to rip my arms loose at the shoulders every time we exited the plane. All while hurtling earthwards at 120 miles an hour. It seemed to me that every time we landed, one or another of the morons who had just tried to kill me came over to explain what I had been doing wrong. Since it was the first time I'd been to one of these things I didn't know enough to tell them to get stuffed. It struck me that most of those people were suffering from delusions of adequacy and would have been out of their depth in a parking lot puddle, let alone on a big way skydive. At the end of that weekend I vowed to never attend another boogie or go out the door with anything bigger than a 4-way ever again. But I never have learned from my mistakes.
Here I am, 16 years and a couple thousand skydives later, headed to Perris Valley California to take part in a Perris Performance Plus Big-Way Camp, to be followed by an attempt at setting a new Canadian National skydiving record for the largest formation. Dragging a bunch of Canadians to California to set a Canadian record is just plain wrong for several reasons, but I could use the big-way training, and I was on the last record (59) and I'm damn well going to be on the next one. Some of the best Canadian skydivers will be making the trip to California along with some...........others........., including a few of the scary ones who tried so hard to kill me at that first boogie so long ago. But whereas before I only had to deal with a single planeload of yahoo's, this time I'm going to be doing my best to dodge and out maneuver 5 planeloads for a total of up to 100 people. I've been on skydives with up to 75 people in Florida and they went very well, but they were invitational events where only the best players got invited. Truth be told, the only reason I got invited was because Nathalie sent an email telling the organizer to put me on. The experts at P3 will spend six days doing their best to teach us how to safely pile out the doors of 5 different aircraft to all meet at one place in the sky without landing on anybody, hitting anybody, getting under them and stealing their air or any of the other stupid stuff all while hurtling earthward at 120 miles an hour. Really, what could possibly go wrong? It's not like we're going to be doing CRW. (A bizarre variation on skydiving invented by people who didn't think that jumping out of an airplane was lethal enough.)
I'll be getting picked up by some friends from Winnipeg at LAX on Monday afternoon and we'll head straight to the drop zone to do paperwork and get checked in. We'll do a couple of jumps on Tuesday to blow off the rust, which should be pretty sporty since none of us has jumped since October, and the skills camp starts early on Wednesday morning.
I just can't stop thinking about all those people who are going to try and kill me. Oscar Wilde said "The basis of optimism is sheer terror." With that in mind, I guess I'm feeling pretty optimistic.
Here I am, 16 years and a couple thousand skydives later, headed to Perris Valley California to take part in a Perris Performance Plus Big-Way Camp, to be followed by an attempt at setting a new Canadian National skydiving record for the largest formation. Dragging a bunch of Canadians to California to set a Canadian record is just plain wrong for several reasons, but I could use the big-way training, and I was on the last record (59) and I'm damn well going to be on the next one. Some of the best Canadian skydivers will be making the trip to California along with some...........others........., including a few of the scary ones who tried so hard to kill me at that first boogie so long ago. But whereas before I only had to deal with a single planeload of yahoo's, this time I'm going to be doing my best to dodge and out maneuver 5 planeloads for a total of up to 100 people. I've been on skydives with up to 75 people in Florida and they went very well, but they were invitational events where only the best players got invited. Truth be told, the only reason I got invited was because Nathalie sent an email telling the organizer to put me on. The experts at P3 will spend six days doing their best to teach us how to safely pile out the doors of 5 different aircraft to all meet at one place in the sky without landing on anybody, hitting anybody, getting under them and stealing their air or any of the other stupid stuff all while hurtling earthward at 120 miles an hour. Really, what could possibly go wrong? It's not like we're going to be doing CRW. (A bizarre variation on skydiving invented by people who didn't think that jumping out of an airplane was lethal enough.)
I'll be getting picked up by some friends from Winnipeg at LAX on Monday afternoon and we'll head straight to the drop zone to do paperwork and get checked in. We'll do a couple of jumps on Tuesday to blow off the rust, which should be pretty sporty since none of us has jumped since October, and the skills camp starts early on Wednesday morning.
I just can't stop thinking about all those people who are going to try and kill me. Oscar Wilde said "The basis of optimism is sheer terror." With that in mind, I guess I'm feeling pretty optimistic.
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