Don't take life too seriously

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crazy Larry

"Oh. You're That Guy!"

John Smith's theory of "That Guy" is the skydiving equivalent of The Scarlet
Letter. After it's said it's followed by everybody around that guy
exchanging a series of knowing looks and nods, as they all back away a
couple of steps lest his stain be communicated to them. More on this later.

A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving. Lao Tzu.
Nathalie and I have spent 11 days using this philosophy, swanning about
Florida on the bikes, going whichever direction took us away from bad
weather, and towards the warmest ocean water we can find. Watched a couple
of sunrises, slept in a lot, drank Margaritas for lunch, went to the beach
everyday, sometimes twice a day, drank lots and lots of very good and
inexpensive wine, got stalked by a barracuda while snorkeling, which wasn't
a big thing 'cause he wasn't very big and I figured I could take take him if
I had to, and at the very least I could outswim Nathalie if it looked like I
was gonna lose. Then I watched him slice a fish about the size of a male
appendage in half and swallow it in 2 gulps so fast I almost missed it.

That's when I decided I'd had enough snorkeling. The usual vacation type
stuff. My liquid diet has been going well, so far I've lost 4 or 5 days.Most
of the days I haven't felt my age, in fact I often don't feel anything until
noon, and then it's time for a nap. It's the first time in years either one
of us has taken the time to actually r-e-l-a-x on a vacation. Again, I'm
living vicariously through myself. When we were in the keys I even bought
myself the straw cowboy hat I regret not picking up last year, and Nathalie
has taken to calling me "Crocodile Maulsby" whenever I have it on.

We're now at Z-Team 2K10, which could arguably be called C-team as the event
has been moved to Clewiston, on the edge of the everglades in the heart of
sugar cane and Alligator country. I thought the guy who gave me a briefing
was kidding about the 'Gators but I overheard a couple of the locals trading
stories about landing off the airport and spotting "little" ones on their
walk back. The consensus seems to be you don't have to worry unless it's
bigger than 4 feet long. I'm not much reassured. I guess it's the same as
dealing with a barracuda, you don't have to outrun it, you just have to
outrun whoever you're with. All the usual suspects are here, Joanne and
Marcel, Monique and Francois, (the parents of my 4-way teammate Josee),
Rhonda and her boyfriend Mike. She keeps intoducing him with "This is Mike.
He's a professional sailor" As she explained, he doesn't just fish, he hunts
as well. "After all, he caught a cougar!" We spent yesterday doing 20 way
skydives in the morning and 38 ways in the afternoon. Along the way we set a
new record for the largest formation seen in the sky over this Drop zone. I
must be doing well, I haven't been burped yet. I've usually been close to
the center or in the base where the organizer can keep an eye on me, and
it's a slot I have complete confidence I can fly

Until this morning. Last year at Z-Team there was a guy who was so out of
his league at the event that everybody was talking about "That Guy". He went
low, he floated and lifted his whole side, he collided with people, cut
people off, and generally displayed a complete lack of the skills required
to participate in this type of event. This morning Guy and TJ had us dirt
diving (planning and rehearsing the planned skydive on the ground) the 36
way we were going to do later today. It's going to be the base for the
80-ways planned for later on. I was moved over to the chase plane for the
first time, adding to my stress level because I would have a lot further to
go to get to my slot. I was going to be docking on the formation a lot
further back than I have been, but I still felt that I could do the job. I
was facing into the center of the formation, docked on TJ with my left arm
stuck out waiting for Guy to tell somebody to take a grip on me. When he
did, I looked to my left, straight at the face of ................. "That
Guy".

I loooked behind me to a grinning Marcel who was holding up an imaginary
noose above his head as he made choking sounds. Then I looked across to a
laughing Nathalie, and the smiles of everybody else who had been forced to
deal with the Albatross I had just been saddled with.

Sigh. Life Is Crap.

Then they gave us our slots for the 80 ways and not only was "That Guy" not
going to be anywhere near me for the really big stuff, I found out I would
be following Christian Roy out the door. 4 Years ago at the Canadian record
I spent 3 days diving like hell and flying like fuck as I followed Christian
down to my slot. I did what he did, when he did it, and made my slot on
every dive. I'm still stressed, but I feel I've been thrown a lifeline. I've
never done a BIG big-way camp, and the dives that are planned for the
weekend will be bigger than anything I've done before. Everybody makes
mistakes, the trick is to make them when nobody is looking. But at an event
like this nothing escapes the scrutiny of the plane captains at the video
debrief.

We're just about to come off a weather hold and It looks like I will have to
go up and deal with "That Guy" today, but hopefully that will be the only
chance he gets to make me look bad. Guy has told us several times he will
cut anybody from the 80-ways who can't make the grade.

Crazy Larry, Z-Team 2010, Clewiston Florida.

"Define Normal"

"Define Normal" is written on a popular Skydiving t-shirt.
According to Ellen Goodman, "Normal is getting dressed in clothes you buy
for work and driving through traffic in a car you are still paying for, in
order to get to the job you need to pay for the clothes, the car, and the
house you leave vacant all day so you can afford to live in it."

So, I guess I'm back to normal.

Epilogue
It's Tuesday, and I just spent my first day at work in just over 4 weeks.
One of the kids who used to work for me coined the phrase "Yippee it's
Tuesday!" It makes reference to the fact that every Tuesday we get our
shipment from Home Hardware. First we unload it all, then we sort, price,
and put it all away. My job is sorting and pricing. Every Tuesday for the
last 20 years I've stood in the same spot in front of a large table, slicing
open box after box after box, sorting and tagging whatever I find within.
The only time I move more than a couple of feet from my spot it's to fetch
another box. My version of "Normal".

The party is over, the travelling is done, it's time for reality to intrude
once again into the continuous party known as "Crazy Larry's Excellent
Adventure". I've accomplished much in the last few weeks. I travelled from
Ottawa Ontario to Ottawa Illinois, to Burnaby, to Montreal, to Newfoundland,
and back to Montreal again. I started with a fast ride through The Park,
then Dan's Stag, Nathalie's deck is finally painted, I've been to Summerfest
(all too briefly but I was there) helped set a new Canadian POPS Record, was
part of a Team that earned that long-sought Nationals medal in 4-way that
for so many years seemed out of reach, Camped with Doug Forth and 34 of my
friends, made it to The Rock for Dan and Cheryl's wedding, and Nathalie and
I finished it off with a 2 day tour on 2 wheels.

I did some smuggling, some snuggling, some partying, some packing, danced
like nobody was watching (okay, I danced and hoped nobody was watching),
drove fast and took chances, flew, frapped, flopped, and even flopped around
a few times, although the new medication seems to have that under control.
Got scraped, scratched, bruised and beaten, and more than a few people tried
to kill me, but that was mostly unintentional.

To all those who have joined me for parts of this summers adventure,
thank-you. To those who have lived vicariously through these emails, you're
welcome. Having somebody else along for the ride just increases the fun.
(According to Garth people look forward to receiving these updates out of a
sense of morbid curiosity.)

To all the people who have supported Nathalie and Debbie in their pursuit of
Jump For The Cause by buying a calendar or making a donation, thank you.
When I walked into Mile High last Wednesday with an arm load of calendars,
not a single person said no, and I sold every one I brought. Nathalie was
blown away by the generosity of people who are in many cases strangers. If
there is anybody I missed who would like one, I'll have some at work, just
drop by and I'll fix you up.

People keep telling me I should be a writer, and it is something I've always
wanted to do. Here's the way I see it. I wrote this, you read it. As far as
I'm concerned, I am a writer. Thanks for reading.

There's another popular skydiving t-shirt that asks the question "Why Be
Normal?"
Good question.
Crazy Larry

"We'll rant and we'll roar like true Newfoundlanders...."

"We'll rant and we'll roar on deck and below......
Until we strikes bottom beside the two sunkers........
And straight through the channel to Taslow we'll go....."

I don't know what the last two lines mean, but the first two are claiming
that nobody can party like a Newfie. After what I've been through since my
arrival I wouldn't argue.

It's now my third day here, and I've spent most of my time in one bar or
another, and every one of them has had a view of the harbor. They even
served wine at the church 'though you had to line up to get some, and it
also had a view of the harbor.

Dan, Casey and I took Harley for a walk up Signal Hill yesterday morning
before the ceremony, and while Dan was putting the dog back into the truck
he said "Larry, I need a favor." Out of reflex I replied " No problem buddy.
I've got my Gold card, we can be in Vegas in 7 hours, and she'll never find
you". And realized Dan was holding out a tie and gazing at me with a strange
look on his face. All he wanted was some help dressing the dog. Shirt, tie,
and bowler hat. Normally at a wedding the most photographed person is the
bride, but this time it was the dog. At the church tourists were even coming
in off the road to take pictures.

The ceremony went pretty much as planned, we didn't wear the bright yellow
Sou' westers after all when somebody pointed out you're supposed to take your
hat off in church.

The person who cried the most wasn't the bride, or her mother, or one of the
bridesmaids. As Cheryl made her way towards the altar J.C. whispered "He's
crying!" I turned to see Dan, who I've come to think of as one of the
mentally and physically toughest people I know, with tears running down his
cheeks. Dan, I told you, 7 hours and we're in Vegas man!

One of the bridesmaids gave Dan some Kleenex, and when he used it up the
priest gave him more. So much for the tough guy. All it took to take him
down was a beautiful woman in a white dress.

The only glitch was when we started the procession back down the aisle. The
priest who had guided us through the rehearsal the day before was just
filling in for the guy who actually performed the ceremony. The fill-in was
much younger, and thought the electric guitar bit was a great idea. Nobody
thought to check with Father English, who performed the ceremony. When "Ode
To Joy" suddenly turned into something that sounded more like "Jimmy Page
Live" it looked like the quiet, soft-spoken man who had performed the
ceremony was getting ready to call for Hell-Fire and Damnation to descend
upon the guitarist. It would have been pretty funny if we were standing at a
safer distance.

The wedding is over, the paperwork signed, pictures taken, and it's
official: there is now a new Mrs. Whitman.

We had a lot of fun with the hats and the bottles of Screech, and they both
figured prominently in the wedding pictures. The bridesmaids were
complaining of thirst so J.C. ran across the street to a convenience store
for a couple of 8-packs of beer (it seems that in Newfoundland 6-packs
aren't quite big enough), which led to us standing around in tuxes and
formal wear drinking beer in the parking lot of Government house, which was
our first stop for pictures.

The reception was pretty standard. Until they brought out a dead fish and
performed a ceremony called "Getting Screeched In". You kiss the dead fish,
drink a shot of Screech, recite something that means something only to a
Newfoundlander but sounds pretty rude, and we were inducted into "The Royal
Order Of Screechers". The whole wedding party are now honorable Newfies.

And the peasants rejoiced. And partied, and drank, and danced, and drank
some more, and admired the view of the harbor.

Saturday afternoon Alex took me and the bridesmaids out to Cape Spear for
some much needed fresh air, and as a bonus we got to do some whale watching
before Casey and Cheryl ran me out to the airport so I could return home. It
was the longest stretch since I arrived here where I've been conscious and
didn't have any alcohol. I intend to return to The Rock someday, but I'm
going to spend a little more time doing the tourist thing, and a little less
time in bars.

End of Chapter 5

"Lightning is God's Beer Light"

"Lightning is God's Beer Light"

That's what Beer Girl said to me as we passed each other outside manifest
after the storm that shut us down Sunday had passed. The Beer Light is what
is turned on at a Drop Zone to signify that jumping is officially over for
the day and that we can now move on to the next stage: drinking. Open
containers of alcohol are strictly forbidden at most operations until
jumping has finished for the day. The Beer Light itself takes many forms. At
some DZ's it's a simple light bulb in a designated spot. If they get fancy
they might put it on top of a building so it can be seen from anywhere in
the DZ. At my home DZ it's a child's toy hard hat equipped with batteries
and a strobe. When we're done jumping, the kid puts it on and runs around
the Drop Zone letting everybody know it's time for the partying to commence.
Yeah you're right, not exactly normal, but as a relative thing how much fun
do normal people have?

We got 2 jumps in on Sunday. The first one went well, I was a second row
diver coming out of the trail plane and got to chase the base across the sky
to get to my slot. As usual Rhonda flashed past me every time to get there
in half the time it took me. At the start of the camp she said she needed to
practice being a late diver, but from what I could see she has that job
pretty much nailed.

At least I Didn't have to worry about John Smith. On the jumps the day
before he was where he was supposed to be, above and offset from the base
looking back up the line of flight. I never give a thought to the cameraman
because he's the guy who is always safely out of the way, hovering above the
burble. But he might not as safe as he thinks he is if I'm a floater coming
out of the trail plane and he's looking down at what he's videoing like he's
supposed to, not up and behind him where nobody should be. But a couple of
times when I launched from the trail plane I tracked up, not over, and found
myself having to dive back down to get to my slot, straight towards an
unsuspecting John Smith. The first time I saw him I thought he was just
another skydiver and moving in the same general direction I was. It wasn't
until I was about 20 feet away and closing fast that I realized he was
stationary and I had to shear off to the side to keep from hitting him. You
can get away with a lot of stupid mistakes at a camp, it's looked upon as
the place to make mistakes and learn, but I'm pretty sure that taking out
the cameraman would qualify as a cardinal sin. Doug wouldn't settle for just
fining me a few cases of Beer, and there wouldn't be enough Single Malt
Scotch in Ontario to be able to apologize to John. Besides, he's from out
west and probably has guns. It didn't go unnoticed though. After landing,
while I was talking to Rhonda, John came up and asked her if he was in the
way of traffic coming over from the chase plane to join the formation. "Not
at all" said Rhonda, "nobody should be anywhere near you." The next time I
found myself above and behind John I gave him a wide berth as I passed.

There is a sequence of "calls" before made before a load so that everybody
knows when they need to be ready. A 20 minute call, a 15 minute call, a 5
minute gear up call, and finally a gear up and go call 'cause the plane is
waiting. For our second jump on Sunday a layer of high cloud started to move
in, but Doug didn't want to lose our momentum so he put us on a "Gear up and
Wait" call. That's a new one. Apparently it means pull on your jumpsuit,
strap on your rig, gloves, and altimeter, then stand around in oppressive
heat and humidity soaking in sweat and wait to see what happens. I'm hoping
it's not a new big-way skydiving technique that I'll be encountering
regularly in the future.

Our second jump on Sunday also went well, on our side that is. Except for a
hard dock on our side that sent a wave through the formation that produced
an effect similar to "cracking the whip" on skates when we were kids. The
people in the middle don't have to worry, they just ride it out. But there
were a couple poor sods on the other side who didn't have someone holding
onto them for them to pass the kinetic energy on to, and consequently when
the wave got to them they got cracked off and sent across the sky. But our
side was fine and that's all that really matters. To me anyway.

That is, we were fine until break off. We all got safely away from the
formation at our assigned altitude with me once again winning the tracking
lottery and heading towards the airport, but as I tracked I noticed a huge,
very low, almost fog-like bank of cloud that seemed to be rolling in from
the lake and was quickly covering the airport. The airport was directly
below me and that seemed to be where the cloud was thinnest so I was able to
quickly spiral down and land, but not everyone was as lucky. By the time the
people who had tracked away from the airport flew back the cloud had
thickened and they had to descend where they thought the airport was. It was
scary enough standing on the ground watching canopies suddenly materialize a
couple hundred feet above, I'm awfully glad I wasn't one of the ones who
sank into that cloud only to see the canopies around me vanish, not being
able to see if anybody decided to turn, or exactly where the many obstacles
in the area were. Everybody landed safely, but unless and until the weather
stabilized we were grounded.

Despite the problems landing, Josee was wearing a grin every bit as big as
the one she had when we took the Bronze. She had wanted to try diving and
wound up seated at the very front of the plane across from Philippe. That's
a tough slot, and only the best can pull it off. No matter how tight things
are jammed up at the door of the plane, in the time it takes to sprint to
the door and throw themselves out the last divers can find the base has
traveled a couple hundred yards and is still accelerating, pulling away
from them. They have the longest distance to go, and have to be extremely
careful they don't overshoot and wind up low. On the video I could see Josee
and Philippe make their slots in excellent time, arriving before some of the
people who had been out the door ahead of them. "That was the Best Skydive I
ever had!" She declared, and the grin confirmed it.

We were debriefing when Manifest called over the PA that "There is a furious
rainstorm expected in the next few minutes, everybody roll up their car
windows" Not 'It's gonna rain", not even "It's gonna rain hard', it was
gonna rain furiously. There was a sudden surge towards the exits with
panicked shouts along the lines of "Screw the windows - my GEAR is outside!"
The picnic tables outside were covered in rigs, cameras, laptops and other
expensive toys all just piled up like rubble.

We had everything under cover in no time flat, and when the rain started it
was indeed, furious. And loud. Most of us were in the hangar and it made so
much noise hitting the steel roof that we had to shout at each other to be
heard.

That was it, we were done for the day, the camp, and the boogie.

The POPS record the Nationals and the Big-Way camp were all (major) injury
free, me and most of my friends got at least one shiny thing on a ribbon
hung around our necks, we all learned some stuff at the camp and while
competing - in some cases about about skydiving, and in some cases about
ourselves. It was a lot of fun, but after 17 days of living out of my truck
I was glad to be on my way home.

On a sad note Tana Nash, formerly of Stratosphere, announced she has sold
her gear and will be leaving the sport. She has met all her challenges and
achieved all her goals. Stratosphere adopted the team I was on in Farnham in
2005, to guide and encourage us through a difficult competition, spending
more time prepping our dives than their own, even as they were defending
their National title. She'll still show up at Burnaby from time to time, but
Nationals will never be the same without her and Rocky coming over, shaking
their heads, saying "Okay, let us show you the way you're supposed to do
that."

Nathalie has expressed concern that perhaps what made the team so ill was
Swine Flu, so I looked up the symptoms on the internet.
"Symptoms include fever, cough, runny nose, sore throat, fatigue, body
aches, loss of appetite, and an uncontrollable urge to fuck in the mud."

Nope. I never once lost my appetite.

There's another Nationals in 2011 and I expect we'll probably be there,

"Once more into the breach my friends". And there's been a challenge made.
Of sorts. Aidan Waters of Tropical Fish and I were talking before 4-way
started and he said "I hope you kick Evolutions Ass! And then we'll kick
yours!" We shared a laugh at the time, but that was before the Cinderella
story came true and we took third place. Aidan, we made a 9 average while
most of the team was sick as dogs and with a total of only 28 training
jumps. At the next Nationals if you feel someone breathing down your neck,
or nipping at your heels, don't be surprised if you look over your shoulder
and find us there. We'll be back. And we've got two years to practice.

I was about to send this email when I received a text message from Diane
Beer Girl Blonde Blue Crazy. She and Johnny Larue were supposed to fly out
Monday afternoon, but instead they have eloped, and are at Niagara Falls
with John Smith who is the official Wedding Photographer. I wonder if they
told Johnny's wife yet?

End of Chapter 4
Next: Wedding Bells on The Rock

Don't Look Away........

"Don't look away from the center of the formation.
When you look away from the center, bad shit happens"
Doug Forth

Chapter 4
40-Way Skills Camp with Doug Forth
There's a phenomenon in weather forecasting called "The Lake Effect". It
refers to the effect a large body of water such as one of the Great Lakes
has on weather systems, influencing the way the system moves. At Mile High,
my home drop zone, there is a reservoir that wraps around 2 sides of the
airport and we are often getting out of the plane over top of it. It's not a
problem, we're wearing Aqua Buoy flotation gear, and while the reservoir
isn't small, if necessary you can turn and run with the wind and make the
far side easily. But unless you start at around 100,000 feet you don't have
a hope in hell of making the far side of Lake Erie. Lake Erie is only a mile
or so from the Burnaby airport and because of prevailing winds we usually
take jump run towards the water. For the purposes of skydiving The Lake
Effect is what happens at break off when somebody loses the tracking lottery
and realizes they're tracking away from the formation and out over the
lake. In any large formation, say 20 or more, you're going to have at least
4 or 5 people who are over or headed towards the water. The immediate
reaction when you realize this generally to panic. People either change
direction across someone else path, ignoring most of the rules of safe
separation and good manners, or to immediately dump in place, thereby
breaking the rest of the rules of safe separation and ignoring the fact that
there are probably people tracking behind them.

My first experience with The Lake Effect was at the warm-ups for the
Canadian Record in 2006. At break off I looked back between my feet to see
canopies suddenly coming out all over the place, a good two thousand feet
higher than they should, and realized that all I could see below, behind,
and to both sides was water. I snapped my head forward and there was LAND! I
was the only one to make the airport, and we spent the next hour picking
people up from where they'd landed in various back yards, on roads, and a
few from the beach.

It will be interesting to see what happens with this camp. There are a lot
of low experience people here, climb outs will be long, extending the spot
further towards the water, and "The Lake Effect"

I wrote the above the day before yesterday. I know what's coming..
Weeeeee!

Friday morning started dull and early. The day was early, I was dull.

Doug appointed Beth as Beer Cop and started handing out fines as soon as the
briefing started to people who showed up late. The Beer Cop records the
fines and ensures that the Beer is paid. Drop Zones run on Beer. Beer is the
Nectar of Knowledge: at the end of the day when you stand around drinking
and telling stories is when a lot of learning takes place. I stepped forward
when Doug asked for a 6-way base so I could put on my new weight belt and
see just how fast I can go. As soon as he asked for someone to take his leg
grip Beer Girl dove in with a big grin on her face, cutting several other
girls off to be the one holding Doug's butt.

I was sitting by the door and I knew for sure it was going to be a good day
when the other Otter pulled up beside us as we climbed and the female
copilot flashed us. Beth was leaving with Nick, who usually does freefly,
and when he left he wound up in front of her on his head, not flat like he
should have been. Beth started yelling (which is pointless because contrary
to what Keannu Reeves and Patrick Swayze claim you can't talk in freefall)
"Nick! This is Formation Skydiving,
not head down!" He quickly corrected himself so maybe he heard her after
all.

I spent all my free time between jumps harassing people into buying
calendars. There were only two acceptable replies. "I've already bought
one", or "Here's $20 now Leave Me Alone!". I have no shame. It was at the
point where people would see me coming and turn around and head the other
way.

We did six mostly successful skydives and learned lots - things to do and
things NOT to do.

On Saturday we started early and I was leaving as a floater from outside the
trail plane. On the first exit Shelly didn't launch far enough, and I went
out too far and wound up rodeoing her as we fell perfectly stable for a
couple of seconds before I gently pushed her down and forward, sliding out
from between her legs and into clean air. The dive went well, for our side
at least, the other side had somebody land on it resulting in about half a
dozen people getting funneled. At break off I drifted over too far and wound
up rodeoing Josee, so I got to start and finish the Skydive riding a girl.

There have been a few fines handed out but for the most part people have
been well behaved and the skydives haven't been scary.

We're done for the day and will be going to the Banquet tonight to collect
the rest of our awards.

Our Mama's will be Proud

It's said a picture is worth a thousand words. But in this case you get the
picture and a thousand words. The story is just the story, but the picture
is the punch line that drives it all home.

8 Months, 3 1/2 hours of tunnel, 28 training jumps, hour after hour after
hour after hour on creepers, pinched fingers, frayed nerves, body slams,
funneled exits, stress, late nights, sleepless nights, early mornings,
pushing, shoving, nagging, arguing, whining, heads pounded against walls
(literally), missed days at work, and it all comes down to "35 seconds of
working time after the first team member achieves total separation from the
aircraft". Times 10. Some teams fold under the pressure, some rise to the
occasion, and some, like us, do neither. We planned the dives, and dove the
plans. Nothing fancy, just a simple strategy of staying calm and cool, and
doing what we knew we could do. And steadily racking up points on every
round. Even in the first round on Tuesday when we got onto the plane
coughing hacking and sneezing like a bunch of patients from an influenza
ward our energy level was high. We thought we'd blown that whole very
difficult round and would have been happy scoring 3 points. We earned 6. We
dropped a grip on a couple of exits but kept flying and pulled it back
together with hardly any time lost.

We even lucked out in the draw for our loading order. We were the only
people on the plane with Evolution and Tropical Fish. There was never any
rushing to board, no running to the plane, quiet rides to altitude as we all
focused on mental rehearsal, all of us sitting there with eyes closed and
our arms and heads moving back and forth as we pictured the perfect skydive
flowing smoothly past.

After our long stand down for weather we were concerned about being able to
get "up" for round 9, but when I started paying attention to peoples
expressions halfway through the skydive I realized we were all grinning at
each other like a bunch of kids on Christmas morning. Turn - stop - grip -
flash - turn - stop - grip - flash - me and my piece partner Josee linked
together hopping over the other piece and dropping right into their grips -
stop - flash - turn........... Formation Skydiving is one of the ultimate
team sports, no matter how good the star of your team is, the team is only
as good as it's weakest member.

We were literally dancing as we walked back from the landing area.
To sum it up: WE KICKED ASS!

Final Results
Gold: Evolution
Silver: Tropical Fish
Bronze: 4D
90 Points in time over 10 rounds for a 9 average.

And we beat a team with matching suits.

And the peasants rejoiced.

Last night we stood together in the hangar, a Team, as they draped our
medals around our necks.

As soon as the medals were all awarded Neil McGrath called Nathalie up to
present a couple of awards and I found out the real reason Dan and Casey had
come all the way to Burnaby. It was to deliver my Gold Wings for my Two
Thousandth jump and accompanying framed certificate, and my pin for 10 hours
of accumulated freefall time. And a bottle of Scotch. Thanks Dan, maybe I
won't show your future in-laws the pictures from your stag after all.

We managed to get through all our training and the competition with only
some minor bruises. Until we were creeping for round 10. As we went through
one block I put my forearm flat on the ground beside me as I started a turn
and sandwiched my arm between the concrete and the creeper wheel with all my
strength and body weight behind it. I felt a momentary flash of pain and
then the whole arm went numb, but I kept on going. Sort of. It's difficult
to creep using only one arm and with the other feeling like it's had a
tourniquet put on it. We got through a couple more moves with the rest of
the team asking me what was wrong and me insisting I was fine and that we
should keep going when the feeling started coming back into my arm and I
started wishing it had stayed numb. Phil saw the look on my face as we
passed each other, and while he says I had tears running down my face I'm
pretty sure it was just sweat. I'm actually kinda disappointed. There's a
raw spot a little more than an inch long, but for the amount of pain
involved I was really hoping for a big colorful bruise to show off.

Next: 8-Way and 10-Way Speed!

Power Rangers Never Give Up!

It's 2:30 and we're on a weather hold. The winds are stupid strong and we
all had a carnival ride as we came in to land on our last jump. There was a
load in the boarding area ready to go but when manifest saw us come down
they shut the plane down. There's a tornado warning out for Hamilton which
is practically around the corner, but it's a competition so if they say go,
we go. 8 Rounds done and in the bag and considering we're averaging a box of
Kleenex and a dozen Sudafed every few hours we're holding up pretty well. By
the time we've tracked away on the last few jumps my sinuses have been in
agony from the rapid pressurization, Nathalie is currently unconscious in a
lawn chair, and the 3 of us keep honking regularly like a herd of elephants.

But like Steve tells Nolan "Power Rangers Never Give Up!" 7 Rounds have been
posted and we are continuing to strengthen our hold on 3rd place. In fact,
we scored 15 points in round 7 which is almost the total our pick-up team
scored in 10 rounds in Farnham in 2005. While they aren't exactly looking
over their shoulders, Evolution and The Fish better watch out, we'll be
gunning for them in 2011. Or maybe 2013. Maybe.

It's always interesting to see the names some of the teams use.
The Divas - from Burnaby
Malformation - from Winnipeg
Pink Parts - also from Winnipeg
The Gan Sky Cows - from Gananoque
Thrown Together - as the name implies, thrown together by a bunch of people
who had nothing better to do.

At least if they'd release us for the day we could go soak in the hot tub
overlooking the beach at our cottage, but we're at the mercy of the meet
director, and so here we sit.

What In The Wide Wide World of Sports.....?

"What in the Wide Wide World of Sports is going on here?"
Mel Brooks - in Blazing Saddles

Competition started yesterday with 9 teams entered in 4-way FS. And we're
sick. 3/4 Of the team has a cold. Josee is the only one not sick, and the
cameraman is as always, hovering safely above the burble. Nathalie is by far
the worst, coughing and hacking most of the night, and we are so pumped full
of various cold, cough, and sinus remedies we're joking that we should have
T shirts saying "Sponsored by Sudafed, Bayer, Pfizer, and Robitussin". At
least we're still joking. Not only that, we're holding our own and then
some. After 4 rounds yesterday we have a solid hold on 3rd place behind
Evolution and Tropical Fish. All we have to do is stick with the plan. Slow
and steady, take the safe moves, use the exits we know, and protect our
standing. In other words, everything will be fine as long as we don't do
anything stupid. We're on a 20 minute call to do our first jump of the day
and will probably do our last 6 jumps today. If our sinuses hold out.

And we're ahead of a team with matching suits

To Beer or Not to Beer?

Weather moved in Saturday afternoon so Doug called it a day, the beer light
was lit, and drinking commenced. We retreated to the cottage to relax and
have a few drinks before the banquet. We've hardly spent any time at the
cottage, which is a shame as it is quite picturesque. It's on the lake, we
were lulled to sleep every night by the sound of the surf, but we only all
got in the hot tub once, I never even set foot on the beach, and the
bicycles that we'd dragged all the way here hardly got ridden. The cottage
itself is so cluttered with crud crap and bric-a-brac that it can be
difficult to move around in without tripping over something once you get a
couple of drinks in you, but that didn't detract from it's charm.

The Camp will continue on Sunday, weather permitting.

A few people have sent messages asking what the significance of the name of
our 4-way team is. The name of a team is actually very important. It can
define who you are, how serious you are, and what your goals are. Are you
going to be focused and aim for a National title, are you just out to have
fun, or are you just doing it to meet girls?

The team name is 4D. We had discussed (argued about) possible names for a
few months when Josee sent out an email one night:
Hi guys,
I think I found a good team name!
4D
The idea is that we're working with 3 dimensions + the 4th which is time (we
have to do everything not only using all 3 dimensions -doing verticals - but
also fast!).
It's also because we are 4 "designated" something (driver, fall rate setter,
keyer (?), dive engineer ).
And we're 4.
And it's a bilingual name. And it's short.
I'm not sure if you'll like it but I'm very excited about it!
Let me know what you think.
Josée

It stuck. And we stuck with it. And achieved our goals.

When we sat down with Eddy R a couple days before the nationals he asked us
our goals. We gave him the usual list: High average Score, Personal Best,
Make our Mama's proud, stuff like that. I also told him I wanted to beat a
team with matching suits but he didn't seem to believe me. A day and a half
later, after reviewing the day of training that we had done on Saturday, he
said "Congratulations. You've already achieved all your goals. You've
already won." At first we just sat there, but the more I thought about it,
the more I realized he was right. No matter how the competition ended, we
were already winners. We set a goal, hammered out a plan, and saw it
through. 4 Very different people with different skills and personalities
were able to pull together and become a Team. We sat one night and watched
all our 4-way jumps from the last week and it just blew me away. Holy Crap!

We're F*****G Good! Who the hell is that on the screen wearing my jumpsuit
because there's no way I can fly like that! And who are the rest of those
people? Damn they're fast! And clean and crisp and controlled! I want to be
them when I grow up. Not that I'll ever grow up.

But we didn't do it alone. We couldn't have done it alone. There were a lot
of people who went out of their way and worked to help us get here. People
like Mario Prevost and Michel Lemay who gave us priority over their Tandem
customers and made we sure we were able to get tunnnel time when we wanted
it, the staff at work who shifted their schedules around to let me have time
to train, and all the people who offered encouragement and cheered us on.

Thanks to Paul for sticking it out through the learning curve, and being a
good sport about all the ribbing he took while he was still learning how to
not take out our exits.

And a special thanks to the person who deserves a huge amount of the credit
for what we were able to achieve - Richard Bisson, our secret weapon. Riding
herd on 4 type-A personalities for 4 months, teaching and guiding us as we
learned to work together, acting as coach, den mother, father confessor,
leader, and cheering section, would try the patience of a saint. He handled
it all with patience and restraint, taking everything in stride, as he
showed us the way. You're also waaaay undercharging for your services.

And what was I designated in 4D you might ask? I was the designated drinker
of course.

Crazy Larry
Outside Center for 4D, Bronze Medalists in the Open category, Nationals
2009.

Cowdendum: My apologies to the team who took Gold in 8-way. It seems I have
mis-reported their name. And a name is everything as I explained earlier.
Their name was "Brown Chicken Brown Cow". One poultry, one cow, not two cows
as I had thought, but at least I got the color right.