"What would Larry do?"

Everything was going pretty much according to plan. We left the motel at a reasonable hour, got stuck in traffic, which wasn't unexpected, arriving on the grounds of the World's Largest Air show around noon. Even being stuck in traffic wasn't a hardship, Diane kept us amused by sending us texts speculating on the reasons for the delay and pointing out the billboards for things like the World's Largest Sex Shop. We slathered on the sunscreen, grabbed our camera's and hats, and headed in the same general direction as the rest of the crowd. We hadn't covered 50 feet when Gerry said "We should have dumped some Gatorade out of the bottles and sweetened it up with the Grey Goose." He went on to say that he was just joking, but by then he was talking to himself as Diane and I were already on our way back to the truck. We "freshened" our Gatorade and headed back in, which is where the whole plan went bad. It seemed so simple, drive to Oshkosh, walk around, look at airplanes. I hadn't counted on the Grey Goose.

We made a beeline for the helicopters that were circling around with Gerry whistling the theme song from MASH, and declaring "I'm going to get a ride on one of those!" By the time we got to the loading area we had already drank most of the "Gatorade", and found out it was a 2 hour wait for the helicopter, so we weaved back to the truck for more supplies. We mixed some more drinks, stuffing some ice in the bottles so they would last longer in the heat, and pouring what was left into a water bottle so we could smuggle it past security. The new quart bottle of vodka was now empty, and we were ready to take Oshkosh by storm.

As soon as we cleared security we headed straight for the Warbirds section, that's where all the World War II aircraft were parked. Row upon row of P-51 Mustangs, Corsairs. Lightning's, a Mosquito, a Spitfire, the list could fill a page. Gerry and I were like kids in a candy store, running from one airplane to the next. Even Diane, who only came along because it was on her way home, was impressed. In the next couple of hours we only managed to cover a fraction of the place. We strolled through the homebuilt area, and some of those planes looked fancier than the ones that come from factories.

By then we were starving, so Gerry and I lined up for food, while Diane got us some strawberry smoothies. We sat at our table pouring the rest of the vodka into the smoothies and commenting about how they needed to be watered down as a guy at the end of the table did his best Sergeant Shultz impression. "I see nuffink! I know nuffink!" And we staggered off for more. As we stood and watched the mid-day air show Gerry declared that he was going back to get a ride on one of the helicopters, and disappeared into the crowd. He wasn't gone 10 minutes when he sent Diane a text saying "I have found cold beer"

Diane texted back: "WHERE?!?!"

Gerry: "Co-ordinates G-11"

We pulled out our map and it only took a moment to find the co-ordinates. The spiked smoothies were long gone, we had begun to develop a powerful thirst, so away we went. And promptly got lost. After a while Gerry sent another text: "Running low on US cash, where are you?" Diane replied that we were on our way, and would be there soon. A few minutes later Gerry sent: "I'm surrounded, all my US cash is gone, and I'm on my last beer. Send reinforcements!"

Diane: "Hold on soldier! The Cavalry is coming!"

We finally spotted a big yellow balloon with "Cold Beer" written on it floating above a huge tent filled with girls in bikini's serving up ice cold beer as fast as they could. We made a quick search but Gerry was nowhere to be found. We figured he was probably using the bathroom, so we got some drinks and found some chairs in a well shaded area to await his return. After a few minutes Diane sent a text saying we had arrived at the giant yellow balloon. Gerry looked around the bar, and then looked above the bar, and there was no balloon. We were in the wrong bar. We had  misread the text, and hustled right past the bar located at C-11, and found one instead at G-11.

Gerry arrived a few minutes later, still smiling, only annoyed because he'd been getting along so well with the waitresses in his bar, and hadn't wanted to leave them behind. And that's where we stayed until sundown, eating corn on the cob and cheeseburgers, washed down with copious amounts of beer, as we watched various bombers and fighter-bombers do carefully staged re-enactments of bombing runs complete with huge explosions, plenty of flames and smoke.

Then Gerry stood up and for the umpteenth time declared "I'm going to get a ride on one of those helicopters, and I'm going to moon you when we go past!" And away he went. Again. He was back fairly quickly, babbling about his ride, and how he had spent the whole flight trying to get the pilot to get closer to the big yellow balloon. He actually had started to loosen the belt on his shorts preparatory to undoing the seatbelt so he could hang his ass out the door, no doubt causing some concern to the uptight British gentleman he was belted in with. As soon he was down he ran over to the counter, pulled out some cash and said "I want to go again!" But they were shutting down for the day, he had caught his ride just in time.

A couple of beers after he returned he decided it would be a good idea to go over to the stage where the band was warming up, seize the microphone, and "Explain to all these Damn Americans just who it was that burned the White House! That's right!" he was practically shouting as he warmed to his theme, "We marched right in there and burned Washington to the ground!" For emphasis he held up both middle fingers well above his head. "That's why the White House is white!" Once we got him calmed down he decided that instead he would streak the food tent and started emptying his pockets of anything important in case he wasn't able to recover his clothing after he got arrested. "Don't worry! If the cops are behind me when I circle back here I'll just go on past, you two go home without me." It took even longer to talk him out of this than it took to convince him that a history lesson on the War of 1812 to a field full of drunken Americans wasn't a great idea. Eventually I told him he wasn't drunk enough for something like that yet. Maybe later. That made sense to him on some level, so as soon as I made the mistake of giving him back his wallet, he went and fetched more beer.

The band started to play, the party was just beginning. There were tens of thousands of people camped on the airport. I had imagined many times what it would be like to visit Oshkosh, Mecca for anyone who loves aviation. What I had imagined wasn't anything like this. This was so much better. Next time we're going to bring Camelbacks loaded with Grey Goose and strawberry smoothies so we can party along the whole flight line.

At sundown we finally returned to the parking lot, to bid a sad farewell to Diane Beer Girl, our constant companion and partner in crime over the last week, as she continued on to Winnipeg, and we left to catch our 1 AM ferry ride across Lake Michigan, the first leg of our trip home. "I love you Diane! You too Oshkosh!" Gerry shouted out the window as we drove away.

Gerry and Larry ride a Ferry.

We pulled into the lineup for the SS Badger a full hour ahead of our check in time, so when Gerry left in search of a bathroom, and since the crew would be driving the truck aboard for us, I opened the tailgate, pulled out a chair, popped open a beer, and settled down to wait. When Gerry returned he surveyed the scene for a moment then said "You know, I really like how your mind works. In the future, if I'm trying to decide how to proceed in a situation, I'll just ask myself 'What would Larry do?" He pulled out a chair, I handed him a beer, and the party began all over again.

People were wandering about killing time, and they all seemed to be attracted to the blue Toyota pickup truck with the loud music, and the louder Canadians. We started handing out beer, and once people found out we had spent the week skydiving, the questions started, and we were in our element. We talked about big-ways, little-ways, tandems, funnels, altitude and oxygen, and all the planes we'd jumped from. I pulled my laptop from the truck and we  gave the crowd an audio visual presentation complete with a couple of hilarious tandem video's, and video of my old 4-way team at the Nationals. When it came time to board some husbands and kids had to be dragged away by their wives or mothers.

I slept through most of the 4 hour ride while Gerry wandered the decks, and as soon as the truck was offloaded we were off, headed for home. It took 12 more hours of driving to get back to Gerry's house. I thought about suggesting we swing past Mile High, get in a jump before sunset, and join the party, but speaking only for myself, we have spent far too much time in this truck, and I'm looking forward to sleeping in my own comfy bed.


I'm sitting in my living room, having gone a whole 20 hours without alcohol, and it seems strange that only 24 hours earlier the 3 of us were in Oshkosh, feet up, drinking beer, watching vintage warbirds fly past, as Diane and I talked Gerry out of re-enacting the battle of Washington.

,

9 Days, 22 jumps, a few storms, an airshow, 3,200 kilometers, a bunch of half remembered parties, toga's, man eating fish, some bobbing, some weaving, a lot of laughs, a dent in the side of my truck I'd prefer to not go into here, and a great visit with some old friends I don't get to see anywhere near often enough. It's been 2 years since I did a road trip like this, that's far too long between parties. Gerry feels the same. I'll be putting together a gallery of some of the pictures from this trip and posting it in a few days. I accept no responsibility for any trauma caused by the viewing of those pictures, and keep them out of the reach of children.


One day a couple of years ago when I was up to my usual shenanigans an ex-girlfriend looked at me with a huge smile and said "You're such a kid!" It was just about the best compliment I have ever received. Kids have it all figured out. The whole world is their playground. We lose track of that somewhere along the way. If you do it right, adults are just kids with money, growing up is purely optional. For this year at least, and for many reasons, my skydiving is pretty much over, I'm going to look around the playground and see if something else shiny catches my eye. 


Until the next time
Crazy Larry

"Poor people are crazy...."

"Poor people are crazy, I'm eccentric." Dennis Hopper in the movie "Speed"

And like any other boogie, there are plenty of eccentric people kicking about this drop zone. A guy came walking into the hangar yesterday carrying a giant inflatable penis that was going to be ridden out the door by 9 bikini clad young ladies. I hear the dive went according to plan, with the girls winding up head down with the penis trapped above them by their crossed legs. The guy who was organizing it didn't warn them that the excess speed and aerodynamics of flying head down would cause their tops to get torn off, which was of course the intended result.

The heat and humidity have been brutal, with temperatures of 42-43 degrees everyday plus humidity. In 5 days I've only done 22 jumps. By mid-afternoon the thought of pulling on a jump suit and rig cancels out any possible positive medicinal effects of a skydive. Add in the fact that as soon as our jumps start to grow beyond our circle of friends the fact that half the people in the world are below average becomes all too apparent. It takes far too much effort to do a skydive under these conditions to spend 70 seconds chasing stuff around that doesn't build. We've split off several times from the larger groups to do very successful 4-way, including the last jump on Wednesday where Larry D, Diane, a guy named Chuck and I went out and did a fast moving, turning, spinning dive that left us all with huge grins. Chuck was especially impressed, he had met Diane and I just minutes before the jump and when we did the post-dive his comment was "Nobody warned me I was going to be jumping with a professional team!" I hadn't had a lot of compliments lately about my skydiving so I was happy to accept this one.

The heat proved to be too much, so we adjourned to the pond for the rest of the day. There were more people floating around in the pond than there had been in the hangar. We spent the hour bobbing about on pool noodles and drinking beer. And feeding the fish. But not intentionally, they were just helping themselves. I had been warned that the fish would nibble on you if you didn't keep moving. I pictured something like you see on the news where little guppies nibble on peoples feet and remove dead skin. No. Not even close. I'm bobbing along with 2 pool noodles trapped between my legs and my beer in my hand, peaceful, relaxed, minding my own business, with no idea I was being stalked by Jaws' baby brother. Suddenly I was nipped just below my right armpit. I let out a shriek and thrashed around so much I almost spilled my beer. Everyone around me started to laugh, and I was told I had just been introduced to Skydive Chicago's own Loch Ness monster. I calmed down after a couple of minutes, (and another beer). Every few minutes, somebody would let out a screech or a yelp, followed by drunken giggles, and you knew that "Nessie" had snuck up on another victim.

It's now Thursday afternoon, and we're in in a motel room in Beaver Dam Wisconsin. The forecast for the next couple of days is mostly crap, so after we drank a breakfast of half coffee and half Baileys this morning, we knocked down our soaking wet tents and headed to an airshow going on to our north. It's on her way home, so Diane has come along as well. It's being held in a town called "Osh" something.

I just got an email from Trevor back at Mile High checking to see if anybody was available for Tandems this weekend. I told Gerry to send Trev an email saying "Sorry Trevor, but Larry's not done with me yet."
There's still 4 days left of our vacations, nobody has to be back at work until Tuesday. We've got 2 coolers full of beer, a large bottle of Vodka, a whole bunch of cash, and time to kill. Summerfest may be behind us, but the party's not over yet.

"Tis better to give, than to receive."

Especially if you're talking about water balloons.

I decided I would watch the Hit N' Chug, rather than participate, as that would allow me to start drinking beer at the more civilized hour of 4 o'clock. Once Diane had the obstacle course explained to her, she decided she would give it a pass and start drinking with me, and since I wasn't going, Gerry said he wasn't going. Since I'd only had one beer when he informed me of that, and since it was an American beer, I changed my mind and said I would go. But Gerry's mind was already made up, he quickly had a beer in hand, and that was that. It was settled. We were going to be the people throwing the water balloons, rather than being thrown at.


This event is a combination of accuracy, speed, and beer chugging. The clock starts as soon as you land. You run to the beginning of the course, put your head on top of an upright baseball bat that you have to rotate around 5 times, weave through the pylons, climb a set of bleachers, throw yourself off the other side onto a large pad, roll off, and then run a stretch of open grass known as "The Gauntlet". It's lined with skydivers armed with water balloons and water pistols. Then you dive onto the water slide, and at the end of that they hand you a well shaken beer that has been left out in the sun all day. Guzzle that down, and when you're finished, the clock stops. Lowest time wins.

We grabbed our lawn chairs and joined the rapidly swelling crowd gathering in the spectator area. But when we got there, there wasn't a single water pistol or water balloon in sight. Somebody had forgotten to go to Walmart for supplies. Finally! I had a use for the balloons that went with the cylinder of helium I had dragged about most of North America all spring. Gerry and I were quickly in the bathroom making a god-awful mess as we filled the 50 balloons. There was somebody in one of the crappers behind us who turned out to be a participant in the contest, and in exchange for a promise of immunity he promised to not warn the rest of the contestants. As soon as he left the bathroom Gerry and I looked at each other and Gerry said " He's getting extra balloons for not warning his friends!" We gave it all away though when one of the bags we were carrying the balloons in gave away as we passed a group gearing up for the contest. I'm pretty sure a dozen balloons full of water didn't escape their attention, and that they weren't fooled by Gerry shouting "It's got nothing to do with you!"

We grabbed Kelly, Diane, Robyn, and another girl to throw the balloons, and stationed them along the length of the gauntlet. Since Phil is the trained Fireman I gave him the Super Soaker, and Bob went with him carrying a jug of water to help him reload. Gerry and I took up positions next to the water slide with my camera. We were ready for the first victims.

The first group of 6 started to land, and as soon as the first guys feet were on the ground he pulled his cutaway handle and took off at a run to get to the baseball bat. He ran the rest of the course and when he rolled off the mat he was treated to a hail of missiles, some of which actually found their mark. He finished the course just about the time the next guy started his run. The third guy was the kid who we had promised immunity to, and he'd been wise enough to not believe us and ran the course in a bathing suit. He got extra attention from the girls as he went past. He wasn't going to waste time waiting for it to pour out and shotgunned it, piercing a hole at the base and popping the top. It emptied in a couple of seconds.

It continued on with most of the contestants cutting away their main and running the course wearing their container rather wasting time undoing it. Then one guy landed, reached down, peeled and pulled his cutaway handle, and following the all the training and drills he'd been practicing for years, followed it by pulling his reserve handle. His reserve pilot chute was flung across the landing area as the crowd howled with laughter. One of the people who had been dragging the gear out of the way shouted "It's okay! We found the free bag!' as he waved it above his head and the crowd laughed louder.

The winning time was one minute seventeen seconds. Gerry is all wound up to come back next year and he is absolutely certain if he can land with any accuracy at all, cut that time in half.

If you obey all the rules...

"If you obey all the rules, you'll miss all the fun." Katherine Hepburn

Sunday morning I awoke to the sound of a distant rumble. At first I thought
it was a freight train, but when it went on for too long I started to think
it sounded more like someone was dragging a large garbage can down the
gravel road that runs through the trailer park. After a few more minutes I
stuck my head out of my tent to the sight of a solid wall of slate gray clouds just to the
north, the sound was definitely thunder, and it was getting louder. Deciding
that if I didn't get out of my tent real soon, I could be trapped in it for
hours, I decided to hit the showers. When I came out the winds were picking
up, the rain was just starting, and  I caught a lift back to the tent from
a blond with a fancy german sportscar. Suddenly the storm didn't seem so
bad, and the day seemed to be off to a pretty good start after all. Thinking
that Gerry would probably be asleep for a while yet, I took the truck and
headed for the hangar as the storm started to really hit. The rain was
hitting the truck like it was coming out of a fire hose, and the wind was
making it rock to and fro as I rolled through the trailer park.

I set myself up in a booth in the restaurant to surf the net and wait for them to open. After I had been there for about half an hour with the storm still going strong, Gerry walked up to the booth  and fixed me with a baleful glance as a pool of water spread out slowly from his feet. Oh. It seemed he was up when I left, and just missed getting my attention so he could get a lift with me. He finally got managed to get a ride to the hangar from Diane, but was soaked through.

It's now past noon, and they're trying to scare up enough people to do a hop n' pop load, but the landing areas are still soaked so I'm giving it a pass for now.

2:00 O'clock. We finally got up in the air around 1, doing a couple of disorganized loads with one of the organizers. His jumps have been pretty successful in past years but all the jumps we've done with him so far have turned into mystery dives. That's what you call it when you're tracking away saying to yourself "What the F*** was that?"

On one jump I was nose to nose with Mike Crow fro the entire dive. He had a GoPro camera mounted on the sude of his helmet so I slid off to that side, put my visor right up against the wide angle lens, and crossed my eyes as hard as I could. I can't figure out how the hell he could have missed what I was doing, but he did, because he when we went to debrief the dive he plugged the camera into the big screen TV, and all he had to show was 60 seconds of my crossed eyeballs filling the entire screen. He wasn't impressed, but judging by the laughter everybody else seemed to like it.

Gerry, Kelly, Joanne and I went up to do some 4-way so that we could actually have a chance to touch something, and we had a blast, cranking out points like crazy on a fast burner dive. Now that's the kind of skydiving I like. When Gerry, Joanne, Diane and I went to do a jump out of the Skyvan and we started to plan our exit, Diane piped up with "Bitch Toss me out the door, then come catch me!" When it was our turn to exit, she lay down on the floor, Gerry and I picked her up by her leg straps and shoulder yokes, started swinging her back and forth, then it was "Ready, Set, Go!" and we flung her headfirst out the door.    There was a group of girls leaving after us and as we dove out to chase Diane they were all shouting 'Me next! Me next!" Even with all the separation caused by our exit we still caught up in time to turn about 20 points.

We were on an Otter load that tucked in a little below and to the side of the Skyvan on jump run. Normally when you're formation flying you're leaving with everybody on the other plane so it was really neat to watch all the bodies pouring out of that tailgate and drop away. There wasn't a stable exit on the entire load.

I made a run to the liquor store to get some wine to go with the steak dinner we're planning at the swamp, and was reminded again why I could never move to the US. My liver just wouldn't be bale to take the abuse. Giant bottles of Grey Goose are almost half the price they are back home, and a 24 of beer costs 12 bucks. I only went in for a bottle of wine, but came out with all the booze I could carry. Beer, Wine, Bailey's, Vodka...... I just couldn't control myself.

Tuesday Morning
The flying HellFish Toga Party was last night, and people I don't remember having met keep coming up and telling me how much fun I had last night. I'll have to take their word for it, I don't remember much except arriving and starting in on the free Margarita's. But they're probably right, I woke up with a Flying HellFish tattoo on my chest. I don't remember getting it, but I'm sure that when I check my camera later there will be some evidence. Gerry fashioned a toga out of material he'd bought at Walmart. He was helped by a lady that he figured was at least 90 years old, and when he mentioned to her he was going to be turning it into a toga, she said "Oh, a skydiver! Let me think, how do you do that again?" Diane had brought a length of gauzy, see through material with a lacy fringe in virginal white, and when she hacked a bunch of it off, I gave up trying to fashion my flowered bed sheet into a toga and scooped up the part she had discarded. I think I actually looked pretty good in lace, especially with my straw cowboy hat to top it off.

The first 3 days have been typical Summerfest, bitchin' hot, humidity close to 90%, plenty of fun, pointless skydives, scantily clad women, and dirt cheap, ice cold beer. I've seen all the stupidity and nonsense so many times that it all seems normal now. A crop dusting school is operating from the airport so we get woken up every morning by the sound of a small airplane repeatedly buzzing the nearby runway and pulling up to turn right over us and miss the trees. But as soon as the sun is up the tent is too hot to stay in anyway. Every time there's any wind, Diane's tent has collapsed, usually with her in it. One morning she looked like she was a corpse in a crime scene, outlined beneath the wet nylon.

A DC3 painted in World War II military colors showed up late Sunday, took up 1 load, and landed with them 10 minutes later when one engine quit. The jumpers wanted out, but the loadmaster kept them on board, saying "We still have one engine left!" Sure, and it's just as old as the one that quit, built in the 40's. It's over at a hangar with a bunch of mechanics crawling all over it now, and will be leaving for the Oshkosh airshow as soon as it's fixed. That's fine with me, but Gerry had really been looking forward to jumping it.

The attendance seems to be off this year, but my friends are here, Larry and Joanne's World Famous Drive Thru Beer Window will be open in the parking lot as soon as they're done jumping today, and I intend to make a bee line for it as soon as I finish running the obstacle course in the Hit N' Chug this evening. All is good in my world.

"Definitely more dangerous!" Gerry Cluett

"Sell the house, my trailer, and everything I own, and send me a check, I'm not coming home!"


That was the text Gerry sent to Trevor a couple of hours after we arrived at Summerfest. We drove for 15 hours arriving well after dark, and when we pulled into the parking lot Larry and Joanne's "World Famous Drive Thru Beer Window" was open for business and doing a roaring trade. We were welcomed like the return of the Prodigal Sons. The party had already been going on for a couple of hours and we were greeted with an endless stream of ice cold beer from the seemingly bottomless coolers in the back of Larry and Joanne's truck. I mentioned that a friend from Winnipeg was supposed to be here by now and several people said "You mean Beer Girl?" Seems she's already made an impression. Kelly quickly arranged a couple of bunks for us in The Swamp so we wouldn't have to set up our tents in the dark, and could sleep in air conditioned comfort. When the band started up at the Tiki Hut we wandered over and I began searching the crowd for Diane. I was about to give up looking when she snuck up on me from behind, spun me around to grab my head and pull it down to bury it between her breasts and vigorously wriggle her chest back and forth across my face. When she pulled my head back up, I turned to introduce her to a wide-eyed, slack jawed Gerry, and she proceeded to grab his head and do the same thing to him that she had done to me. Yep, that girl always makes an impression all right. The party went on into the wee small hours of the morning, and we finally gave in to fatigue and alcohol shortly before the bar closed down.

We awoke to an overcast sky, the planes wouldn't be flying for a couple hours because of the low ceiling, but Phil had the coffee on in the Swamp, we were in Chicago, Summerfest was running, and all was good in my world.

When we finally did start jumping we quickly settled into the routine we'd settled into more than 10 years earlier at the Convention, a mix of good skydiving, bad skydiving, scary skydiving, and moments of pure farce. On one 20 way dive we built 5, 4-way diamonds, that we flew around and docked far more successfully than I ever thought we could for a group that was a walk up load. Then that was immediately followed by one guy dive bombing the formation and taking out one whole side as he went past. On one jump where were going to have video the pilot released the brakes just as the cameraman was climbing aboard, knocking him off the ladder to the ground. He knew enough to stay there while the tail swept over him, and while he was shaken up, he was more pissed off than injured.

Each day they have a Mystery Load. One of the sponsors picks up the price of the jump tickets for a random load of aircraft. We were sitting in the loading area when we heard over the P.A. that Load 112 had won that day's mystery dive. "Load 112? Isn't that our load? Asked Kelly. A minute later one of the girls came over from manifest to give us back our tickets. Sweet! Free Altitude! "Sponsored by Airtec, makers of the Cypres 2 AAD, over 1,500 Lives Saved!" Thanks guys!

By the end of the day I had only managed 5 jumps in between the 60-ways that had priority on the planes and caused us to be put on 40 and 50 minute calls. Nobody died, nobody lost an eye, a good start to a vacation. Gerry did a bunch of solo jumps, wearing shorts and sandals, just giving himself an air bath. But he is planning on joining us tomorrow for some smaller stuff.

Off and crawlin' like a herd of Turtles....

Skydive, Party, Collapse, Repeat. That's the motto of the Muff Brothers, and the plan for the next 9 days. I'm off to Ottawa Illinois, home of Skydive Chicago, and Summerfest 2011, the largest boogie in North America. For years Gerry Cluett has been threatening to come with me, but circumstances and life kept getting in the way and he was unable to make the trip. This year, having cleared his calendar and sidestepped various family and social obligations he is finally going to be my copilot. We will be partners in crime as we storm the Flying HellFish Toga Party, assault the obstacle course in the Hit N' Chug, and watch Rook set fire to his Drop Zone as part of the fireworks show. Diane Beer Girl is going to be arriving sometime Friday afternoon, after driving all the way from the Canadian Nationals in Alberta, stopping at home in Winnipeg only long enough to do laundry.

The truck is packed with the usual assortment of gear, beer, tents, coolers...... and the tank of helium I never got around to putting to use at Mission 100 in St. Esprit. I'm sure that the flying Hellfish will be able to come up with something suitably stupid to do with it. I purchased a Super Soaker water pistol so that when I run "The Gauntlet" as part of the Hit N' Chug, and they start throwing those water balloons at me I'd be able to return fire. But when I was testing it out earlier today by tormenting the 5 year old kid next door I over-pressurized it and it blew up in my hands. I'll see if I can pick up a new one at Walmart, but just in case I've packed my marshmallow gun. I know it sounds innocuous, but at close range, under enough pressure, even a marshmallow leaves a mark.

I wonder if having Gerry along will make me more dangerous, or less dangerous?

Mission 100, Day 5

The evening before we started the record attempts Martin Lemay told us that he would rather put all 100 of us up the air for a nearly completed formation than take the most qualified people and put them up simply to set a new record. A few people had been stood down, and he felt that everybody who was still on had the potential to make it work. We had committed to him, and he was committed to getting as many of us onto the record as possible. Normally at something like this the organizers would be going through the roster with a chainsaw by now cutting people right left and center to increase their chances of success. The "inclusive", rather than "exclusive" attitude was refreshing. It wasn't popular with everybody though, a lot of the participants here were in Perris Valley in the spring we made this years first attempt at a record.

We finally took our first injury today. Mish was trying not to be last for the dirt dive, running and getting geared up at the same time. He got caught up in
his rig with his arms trapped behind his back, tripped, and did a face plant
on the deck. He broke his nose and scraped all of the skin off his chin. He
had to stand down from the first load and was replaced by Richard Bisson. He
also had to pay a case of beer for the first injury, but he called that on
himself, so that's okay.

We met at 6:45 under mostly clear skies, and the group had so much energy we
could have run to altitude. In the dirt dive I did what I had been doing for the last 4 days, making faces at Amanda Hoff, my clone on the far side of the formation. We'd been crossing our eyes, flaring our nostrils, blowing kisses, licking our lips, and sometimes even doing as we were supposed to which was making eye contact and staring each other down. But mostly we were trying our best to break each others concentration.

After a thorough review of the plan, both groups
boarded their planes and we finally went up to do the 41-way skydive we'd
first dirt dived 2 days before. The point didn't build, there were a couple
of grips out, but everything was clean and calm. A bunch of us landed in a
field a couple of roads over from the DZ, and a very kind, very old lady who
reminded me of my grandmother slowed down in her very small car to gawk at
us as we walked out of the field. We quickly talked her into giving us a
ride back and we jammed 5 jumpers and gear into her car. She was so excited
I thought she was going to pee herself.

Traffic on the highway has slowed to a crawl, with spectators lining the
shoulders and set up in the fields on lawn chairs. The sight of 3 twin
Otters parked next to a highway is rare to begin with, and almost unheard of
in Canada. There's also the whole people dropping out of the sky in huge
numbers thing.

We geared up for the second jump, boarded our plane, and we taxied up and
out of the way. Angus Smith suddenly appeared, shoved the door up, shouted "Is
this the right right trail plane"? When we yelled no he slammed the door
shut and scurried away. How the hell do you lose your plane? Only Angus could pull that off. But a moment later, I watched Jean Aitken go running
from one aircraft over to another aircraft. Then she came running over to
our aircraft. Then she ran away and ran over to the third aircraft. By then
she'd been joined by Les from Aerodyne, who led her back to our aircraft,
and then finally over to the aircraft that she'd been at in the first place,
where they finally let her board. Turned out that 28 people had been told to
get on an Otter that on a good day can hold 23, and they had to redistribute
the load.

The second jump of the day, which was a 65-way, went very very well, and
came close to a completion.

While practicing the exit for the third jump of the day, Dave Gransden put
his foot down wrong and tore his Achilles tendon. Shortly after that, he
passed out from the pain, and got a free ride in a brightly painted van
covered with flashing lights. But that's again that's okay, because he called beer on
himself for having injured himself without actually skydiving, and we got a
twelve of beer out of it.

The third jump of the day was our first serious attempt at setting a new
record. It was supposed to be a 101-way. It went well but didn't complete.

My slot is pretty straightforward. I'm in the second row of divers coming out of the left trail aircraft, and even with 8 people in front of me and someone to either side I'm still close enough I could easily stick my hand outside the plane. When the 6-way Base launches out of the Sherpa, the 5 floaters clinging to the outside of the plane drop off, the first row of divers squatting and leaning on the floaters are right behind them, and my row is a split second behind them. My row turns to the left when we come out, and the base is dropping down at an angle directly in front of us. We have a straight in shot to our slots. We have to get there as quickly as possible so the rest of the people in our sectors can start filling in behind us. It's the same slot I've been in most of the week. I have Pierre DalcourtTK, with Martin and his bright orange suit to our right, and some poor guy who lost a bet wearing a neon pink Jump For The Cause jumpsuit across from us. There will be no excuse for us to get lost, everybody in the base is pretty distinctive.

Little Kim is in the middle of the floater line on my plane, sandwiched in between a couple of tall guys and all she can see once she's in position is the side of the plane above the door. As soon as anybody in her line moves she's going to drop off.

Joanne Chantigny from Mile High is flying a tough slot, docking in a whacker line several rows behind me. She's got to fly over from another airplane and has a lot of sky to cover. Cyr is in a similar slot across on the other side of the formation.

After the debrief, we were stood down because of clouds. Again.

I took advantage of the break to track down everybody who'd committed a sin
over the past five days to either collect beer or cash to buy beer.

Everybody paid up without protest and in most cases overpaid the amount of
their fine. I hit Angus up for a 12 pack for showing up at the dirt dive in shorts and a T shirt, without a suit. "But that is my suit!" he protested, pointing out that was what he had been wearing on all his jumps. But he paid anyway. I drafted Johannes boyfriend Steph to run and fetch the beer and ice.
He didn't seem to mind, he'd been hanging around all day and isn't a
jumper, there isn't much to do at a DZ if you don't skydive. By the time he
got back, they were calling us to show up for our next jump.

It didn't go anywhere near as well as the previous one. Full body contact,
combat RW. People diving at it, sliding under it, landing on it, collapsing whole sectors,
even crashing right into it--it wasn't pretty or fun. If nobody died or lost an eye. It
certainly wasn't through lack of trying.

Soon after we landed, everybody was digging into the free beer, including a
bunch of people whom nobody had seen before. When we were called to the barn
for the debrief, they picked up a cooler and started walking along the path
with us. When we came to the fork in the path that headed off to the parking
lot, they turned right, while the rest of us went straight. "NO, come this
way, come this way, you're going the wrong way." They looked over their
shoulders at us and started walking faster as they carried our huge cooler
full of beer towards the parking lot and their car with its tailgate open,
waiting for them to make their getaway. They were quickly surrounded by a
crowd of angry skydivers, and after a brief dispute that was settled by the
fact that we outnumbered them by about 10 to 1, we took our beer and headed
for the debrief.

Turned out they were part of the entertainment Donald had lined up, and part
of their payment was to be in beer. When they asked the girl who was running
the beer table for the "Free Beer" she pointed to our cooler, so they picked
it up and started on their way. Just a little miscommunication that came to
the verge of turning ugly. Don't come between a skydiver and his beer.

Mission 100, Day 6

This is it. We have the Sherpa until noon. If we hustle, we can get 3 jumps in. It has to happen before 12 o'clock today or it could be years before the necessary aircraft and talent can be assembled again.

We met in the field at 6:30 and lo and behold, T.K. Hayes, manager and part owner of Skydive City in Florida, also known as Base-o-matic, was late. He had the good manners to run when he finally pulled into the parking lot. Also late were three members of a 4-way team from the Prairies, but at least the team is
working in unison. After a very quick review, we were off for our first jump. TK had promised free jump tickets for everyone at his DZ if we made it on our first attempt.

A couple of people had been cut, and we were aiming for 98. It went very very well, and suddenly it seemed as if we could pull this off.

I landed out, along with most of the people on the load, and burned it in
downwind all alone into a muddy field as I followed the landing direction that had been designated before we took off. I slid to a stop on my right side, covering my suit from shoulder to waist, as well as my right arm, with mud. As I stood stowing my brakes, I looked ahead at the field across from me and watched
canopies landing from every direction, downwind, upwind, crosswind, and was glad I had landed all by myself in the muddy field.

When I walked out to the road, I thought that one of my lifelong fantasies had come true.
I was met by a tall, blond, spectacularly endowed Amazon. "I've come for
you", she said. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. But she was only
there to take me back to the drop zone. There was a fleet of vehicles
circling about, picking up skydivers from everywhere, including a tractor
drawn hay wagon that showed up with a dozen skydivers aboard looking like
animals at the zoo on display as they were returned to the drop zone. They got a round of applause and laughter from jumpers and spectators alike.

After a very fast debrief and an even faster brief, we went back up with
some changes to the lineup. Again, the dive went well, but didn't complete. When my canopy opened it snapped into a fast 360 degree turn before it settled smoothly on the heading I'd been on when I threw the
pilot chute. Not a good thing when there's that many canopies around but
seeing all those canopies go past made the momentary fear worth it. When I came in to the landing area there was nobody near me for the first time since I got here so I decided to take advantage of
that and do a front riser carve to dive and accelerate the canopy in for my
landing. As I came out of the swoop I realized the wind had picked up and I was now screaming in downwind. I tried to run it out on a downhill slope but it was hopeless. I finally tripped and landed on my left side, skidding to a stop in another patch of mud. At least now I was equally muddy
on both sides of my suit and gear. That turned out to be a typical landing
on that load with most people doing face plants, somersaults and butt slides.
The most popular piece of equipment on the drop zone after that was the Scrub
Brush of Shame. My rigger is going to be pissed at the mess he has to clean up.

We only have one shot left. But it seems that time after time these things come down to the last possible chance, the last load on the last day, that's when people dig deep, focus, and make it happen.

They made a couple more cuts, and 93 of us met in the field for one last dirt dive. Martin looked around, thanked us all for coming, for working so hard, said we didn't need to run through it all again, that we all knew our jobs, lets load the planes and go. We were all smiles as we split into our aircraft groups, and everybody seemed to know that this time, it was going to work.

Our airplane wasn't being used for ferry duty so we lounged about on the grass in the shade beneath the wing on the left side of our plane. The pilot damn near gave us a heart attack when he started up the right side engine without warning us first. There was a mad scramble as anybody close to the left engine crawled away from it in case it started as well.

We went to 20,000 feet, sitting calmly on the floor, sucking on our oxygen tubes. When it was time to get up and get ready, I knelt looking out a window on the right side of the plane in what was the best seat in the house. I had a perfect view of the other 3 aircraft, flying in a tight formation. My job was to watch the other planes, and in case we missed a warning light, to let people know when the other planes were opening their doors, and starting their climb out. When the right trail opened it's door, Stephane Lemay, our cameraman for the US nationals in 2010 could be plainly seen in his bright red suit. In the shadows on the tailgate of the Sherpa I could see Martin's orange suit moving about as he leaned out to check our spot.

Green Light. I could see the floaters on the other 2 trail planes starting to climb out. Time to go.

It's Ground Hog Day.

When the 8 people in front of me left, I dove out, and turned to see the base floating past, solid and stable.  I swept my arms back as far as I could and dove after Pierre as fast as I could. The faster I was where I was supposed to be, the faster the people who were lining up behind me could get to where they had to go. It was building fast, real fast, and clean, with no movement, no waves going through the formation as it grew. I was staring across the formation at Amanda, and her whole side was smoothly coming together, just as if this were simply another dirt dive. I snuck a quick look to my left.... and everybody was on grips!  Straight ahead behind Amanda, everyone was there, part of the formation, flying as a single person. I looked to the right..... and someone was low! It was Slade, about 5 feet underneath us! Fuck!!!!!!!!

I could see the look of fierce determination on his face as he stretched himself out as flat as he could to slow down, and popped up into his slot.

That was it! We had it!

But no. Ahead of me Martin had his neck craned up and twisted over so he could see the line behind me. He was jerking his head as if to say "Come on! Get in here!"

My Pro Trac started to beep in my helmet, it was time for the outer ring to track away, Mission 100 was over.

It was a quiet group that landed and began the walk back. I couldn't understand what could have gone wrong. We had done what Martin had asked, we had believed, we had faith, we had each other, and we were lead by one of the finest skydivers in the world.

In front of me, someone was pointing up, and after a moment of searching, I could see the tiny multicolored rectangle of a main parachute high in the sky, far higher than it should have been. Someone had had a premature deployment, and had never made their slot. His closing pin had been dislodged on exit, leaving him hanging under his main at 20,000 feet.

As bad as we all felt, I don't think it could have come anywhere near the pain that lone skydiver felt as he came in to land all by himself, long after everyone else had left the landing area. I knew him, I had been jumping with him all week long, joking in the dirt dives, and it was his girlfriend that had picked me up and brought me back after I had landed off the airport earlier that day. He's a great guy, and a good skydiver, someone I'd be happy to trust my life to.

I ran into Martin a few minutes later, stuck out my hand, and congratulated him on a very successful event, run under very trying conditions. He looked like he was about to burst into tears. It's good he didn't. I was fighting them back myself, and if he had started, I'd have lost it as well.

At the debrief we watched the video in silence. The formation built fast and clean, everybody lining up, and waiting their turn to take their grips. In between Stephan and me, Nick had taken our leg grips, but there was an empty hole where someone should have been on his leg grip. Everyone was lined up waiting, but the hole remained, the person who was to fill it was a couple of miles above.

There were a lot of nasty things said, but it would be impossible for anyone to beat up on the guy any more than he was beating up on himself right then. He is going to have to wear this until the day a new record is finally set. And when it is, I hope he comes, I'd jump with him anytime, anywhere.

Martin thanked us for our efforts, and we gave him, his family, and his coworkers, an ovation that went on for several minutes. When we were done, he said "You are released."

I've never liked big ways, way too much stress and effort just to make a single point. Until this one I'd always had to be pushed into doing them. I'd far rather grab 3 friends and do some smokin' hot 4-way.

But the next time Martin puts out the call, I'll answer it. I hate leaving a job unfinished.