Ever run an autocross down at the Marina Airport (near Monterrey, CA) and
wonder if the parachutists landing in the nearby landing strip are having
more fun than you and your autocross peers? Well, I have, many times, and so
last Monday I finally got to find out for myself, and here I shall share my
findings.
The place was Buckeye, Arizona, and the date, March 5th, 2001. You might be
wondering what I was doing in Buckeye. Let's just say it was a memorial, of
sorts, for a friend, a true lover of life, who died exactly one year ago on
his motorcycle. Lacy was his name. He wouldn't be called by his first name.
Only a real man would want to be called Lacy. His wife, my best friend,
Brigitte, planned this spectacle of a weekend to celebrate his life and our
lives the way Lacy would want us to. It marked one year of survival for
Brigitte. She made it. And the best way to celebrate would be to do really
crazy things. Fun things. Things that if you mess up, you'll hurt really
bad. That's how you know you're alive, you see. Dan, Lacy's best friend who
played a significant role in our celebration, has a license plate frame on
his GMC truck that reads, "Pain is weakness leaving your body." Death, you
might sneak up on Lacy, but you're not going to catch us, you bastard.
That's what we were saying. So, we rode mountain bikes in Sedona and fell
off cliffs and crashed into trees, and we laughed about it. We jumped out of
an airplane in Buckeye.
Buckeye is somewhere near Phoenix, off of I-10. We didn't get to the center
of town. The Desert Skydiving Center is somewhere near Buckeye. It's in this
hangar type building. Walk in, there are three couches with a TV near the
entrance, a back counter, and then all this parachuting gear strewn all
about the building. They play loud rock music on the stereo.
They made us sign a million times this form with a million paragraphs. You
have to initial each paragraph. The basic theme is, "We never told you sky
diving is safe. You could die, and if you do die, you will be held
accountable, not us, so don't even bother suing."
Then we had to watch a video telling us the same thing. They kept playing
the stereo louder and louder, and I said, "Hey, I can't hear the video!" and
Brigitte said, "I think there's a reason, Katie."
But the main theme of the video was, "Tandem sky diving is not FAA approved.
It is considered 'experimental.' You are merely guinea pigs. You could be
dead guinea pigs in less than one hour."
Tony, Brigitte's instructor, later calmed our nerves. "Look, you're our
vested interested. If you die, so do I. I don't want to die. I don't want
this company to go out of business."
This made me feel a LOT better.
The Nitty Gritty
What made me nervous about this Cessna 152 or whatever it was, was that I
have seen '63 Beetles in better condition than this. I said, "Look, my '67
MGB GT is in better shape than this plane." I said this a little late. We
were already cramped into the tiny cabin, already 1000 feet into the air.
Tony said, "Hey, did your B's speedometer work?"
"No."
"Well, this plane's does, and could your B fly?"
He had a point.
Brigitte, who was sitting next to the pilot, next to the front door that was
nothing more than a metal attached to a frame, said that was one of the few
gauges that DID work. The gas gauge did not.
Brigitte said to the pilot, "Hey, you're the pilot. You don't need a
parachute!"
"In this plane, yes I do!"
I focused on the breath. This is a skill recommended in the book "The Inner
Game of Tennis." You can only focus on one thing at a time. If you focus on
the breath, you cannot be any more "in" the moment." So, I focused on
breathing deeply, and I reviewed over and over again my instructions when we
were once on land, about how I'm going to scoot to the front of the plane,
hold the door frame, put my foot on the step (on the plane's wheel), cross
my arms over my chest, put my right shoulder to my right knee, and then Jim,
my instructor tied to my back, is going to throw us out of the plane at
12,000 feet.
I wanted to focus on that, to keep my mind in a pro-active state, but Tony
and Jim thought they'd help us by making jokes. I didn't think they were
very funny. Like, "Well, I had a skydiving license. Hey, I'm sorry, I forgot
to harness myself to the girl. I was holding on to her as tight as I could,
but I also had to open the 'chute. If I didn't let go, then we'd BOTH die.
It was just self-preservation!"
Hahaha.
This Cessna was loud and cramped, and I was very depressed. My room was and
still is a mess, I have journal entries I simply must edit before consumed
by strangers, my mom would just kill me if she got the call, just all these
things were flashing through my mind at 9,000 feet in the air in a tiny
cabin, sitting backwards behind a pilot wearing a parachute.
I just focused on the breathing part. Deep and slow, deep and slow. Look out
the window, look at the horizon, breathe in, breathe out. Brigitte and Tony
were up first. The door opened, and the wind slammed into the cabin. Just
breathe, deep and slow, deep and slow. Keep your eyes on the horizon. At
this point, I was already fastened to Jim, very tightly. "Hey, I'm going to
be your closest friend for the next few minutes. How does this make you
feel?" he said.
Just keep breathing. All I could hear was the wind as Brigitte and Tony fell
from the plane.
Jim went through all these checkpoints with me, assured me we were connected
at four points, and reviewed, again, my tasks ahead. I shan't repeat them.
Instead, I'll say this. You put your right foot on the step on the wheel of
the plane. Don't look down, look to the horizon. The horizon were the
mountains surrounding Phoenix. Focus on the mountain peaks. The wind is cold
and sharp, and rips into your skin. I crossed my hands over my chest, and
what it felt like, as we pushed from the plane, was like we were jumping
into a huge wave. You just push off into the wind, and open your chest, hug
the wind, into a swan dive, and the wind carries you away. The wind holds
you up, supports you, and you're flying, away from the plane. That's what
you feel like.
Of course, having this guy strapped to my back screaming kind of distracted
me from the experience. Okay, okay, Jim, enough with the thumbs up signs.
Shut up already. Smile, that's all I wanted to do. Let me breathe this all
in. I remember swimming underwater for the first time, under my mom's legs,
trying to fight my buoyancy, the quiet serenity of the clear pool water
pressing into my ears as I looked all around this pool abyss, noticing the
bugs and beer cans at the pool's bottom as I'm paddling along, observing it
all. This was kind of like that, except the wind was so strong. Smiling was
impossible, because it slams your lips into funny shapes. Anyway, this
wasn't a swan dive. It was the biggest hug I could ever give the world. Here
I am, I can see all the mountains, the whole planet, my hair is flapping, my
cheeks are flapping, I'm higher than the birds, and down there, there's
Brigitte, she's flying too.
45 seconds later, that's when Jim popped open the 'chute. It was a gentle
opening, and soon I was dangling up-right. "Welcome to my office," said Jim,
between his hoots and hollers.
The rest of the way, we floated slowly down to Planet Earth. Brigitte was
there waiting for me, with a big grin. I only met Lacy once, at their
wedding, but I think on this day, I got to know him a lot better.
How does this compare to autocross? I wasn't shaking like I normally do at
an autocross. I surprisingly felt calm. Autocross provides a better
adrenaline kick. You see, it takes a long time to fall from the sky. You're
not dodging objects. You have a lot of time to think. The act in and of
itself is pushing the limit of disaster, so the biggest rush is merely
stepping from the plane. That was my favorite part. If you were riding in a
VW Beetle with wings, you'd want to jump out, too.
Autocross, on the other hand, is a combination of many variables, such as
the relative high speeds to orange objects coming at you very quickly, the
competition, and the pushing of one's limits BECAUSE of the competition.
There are so many emotions and conditions, and the key is finding a balance
between the rush of "winning" and the rush of pushing yourself into a new
zone that transcends "winning." At its best, you're completely free. It's
difficult, because if you're not trying to win, you're not pushing yourself
into the zone that transcends winning, when you finally release your ego,
and relinquish control, and let whatever it is happen. It's a delicate
balance, but every once in awhile, when you least expect it, you find it.
Now because this pushing of limits in autocross is self-inflicted, you have
the added burden of making the choice. That adds to the difficulty. You and
only you control the rush. Meanwhile, once you step from that airplane,
you're going to fall, you're going to reach speeds of 120 mph, no matter
what. There is no choice, just acceptance. You have no control. You can die,
and there's nothing you can do about it, so you roll with it, see it for
what it is, and that's when you find true peace.
What caused this euphoric experience was what it represented, and not that I
just tricked Death, you sneaky bastard. I was falling from the sky to give
thanks for being alive and on such a beautiful planet. Down on the ground,
there's always such a racket going on, all this fighting and hatred. From up
above, y'all don't know how beautiful and innocent you people look. No
wonder God loves us so.
-Katie Kelly
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