"Come on, jump in the truck." Pops leans out the window. "Gonna miss the first load if we don't get moving."
"Okay, okay," I say. "Bye Mom," 'n I give her a hug and a kiss and we're jumping in the truck and Pops throws her into gear. He doesn't quite rocket down the driveway but he does like to drive fast and I'm laughing as he fishtails us out onto the sideroad.
"You're not really seventy at all, are you, Pops?" I giggle. "It's just a disguise." Coz he drives like Rog and most of my guy friends.
"Hush your mouth, sugar," he drawls, pulling one of his cigars out of his pocket. "You mind?"
"Course not," I say, coz I actually like the smoke from Pops' cigars. Second hand. With the truck windows wide open, 'n even that cigar smoke isn't quite strong enough to drown the scent of jasmine on the summer air.
* * *
The morning goes by in a rush of adrenaline. Out of the truck down at the field and it's getting lighter but yeah, we're early and all three of us are gonna be in that first load. The old Cessna only holds four jumpers plus the pilot and it's me and Rog and Pops and Fred and we don't need to waste time figuring out the balance or anything coz we've all done this before and everyone knows where they go.
Jumpsuits on, got my helmet on, goggles ready, strap into my harness, container on with the main and reserve both good 'n I'm jumping with a Mirage G4 rig that Dad bought me when I got serious last year. Pops and Rog and Fred all check me out. Fred and Pops check everyone, they're both anal about it. So am I and the last thing I do is check all the handles, touching them in sequence and a last check to make sure the reserve handle is seated and I've got everything, all the kit I need, it's there with me for the jump and my AAD, my automatic activation device, that it's set for the right height.
"Let's go, guys." Jake's been checking over the Cessna. He waves us over and we pack in. Rog is in right after Jake, he sits with his back to the dashboard. I'm tucked in between Rog's legs and we're both facing the back of the plane. Pops sits with his back to Jake's seat and Fred's at the back facing forward and our legs are all around each other's but we all know where we go and without the seats it's great coz we get one more in.
The old 182 has four seats, but the seats, they're sitting back of the hanger where they've been as long as I've been jumping. The door's beside them coz you don't want that door when you're jumping and that's all the old 182's used for. If you take the seats out you can fit four jumpers plus the pilot if the weight all works out and it's totally legit.
Jake's been taking jumpers up for years like this and everyone knows the ropes and we're off. The sun's coming up as we taxi across the grass and onto the strip and Jake's done this a thousand times before and we're moving. Down the runway, picking up speed, that slow rise in the still dawn air, climbing slowly and it's going to take about twenty, maybe twenty five minutes to get to ten thousand feet coz the old 182's no rocket.
I'd like to relax but I'm totally buzzed as we spiral upwards, slowly climbing into the blue. Behind me, Rog is fast asleep. I can feel him snoring and I grin, coz he's always so laid back and calm but me, I'm just so alive. I love the sound of the engine, the rush of the air through the doorway, the vibration, that feeling you get as the little Cessna climbs. It's a total little workhorse. Not a performance aircraft, but it's solid and reliable and we all trust it and I love this ride up, the cool dawn air, the growing anticipation.
Altitude at last and Jake's leveling us out, turning, lining us up over the strip for the jump run and we're all ready for this and Rog is awake now and Pops is grinning at me. I do a last check, pull my goggles down and I'm smiling back at Pops as we start to untangle from each other and clamber out and onto the struts and the step through that tiny door into the rush of the wind. All that weight on the right, but Jake's been doing this for years and he adjusts, keeping the Cessna level and we're over the strip now, ten thousand feet altitude, eight thousand feet to the ground.
It's this moment that I love most, clinging to the exterior of the little Cessna, the rush of wind, hanging into the strut, nothing below me but air and the green and brown of the ground so far below. Any moment now we'll drop away, fall through the air and then I'll open and fly that canopy to the ground. Fred signals. It's time. A surge of adrenaline and that first rush as we drop away together, falling free through the sky and we're all dropping together. Rog and I slide off and I love that rush as the air buffets me.
I'm totally relaxed now, resting on the wind, floating down through the blue of the sky, seeing the arch of the horizon and the dawn sun is glowing, golden, warm, bringing life and light and it's a perfect first jump of the day and Rog and I are so close I can see him smiling at me and I smile back. Terminal velocity, we're falling one thousand feet every six point five seconds and we jumped from eight thousand above ground. Almost a minute if you want to go all the way down and open low, but I never do.
I'm falling flat-style, taking it easy, not doing any free-style and I never liked head-down. I'm doing this for fun and I'm totally relaxed. Pops and Fred have moved away, Pops is heads down below us and having a ball 'n he does love the speed 'n Fred's with him on that one. Rog and I, we're together, the way we almost always are and we're dropping side by side, almost touching, lying on a cushion of air, the wind whistling in my ears and then at last I slide away from him and he gives me a grin coz he knows what I'm doing. We know each other's style.
I'm the first to open coz I like to have plenty of time in case anything does go wrong. Nothing ever has but better safe than sorry and it beats panicking at the last second and in any case I have my AAD. My automatic activation device and mine's an Airtec Cypres 2 and its set for three thousand above ground and I generally open at four and that gives me six seconds of margin. Plenty of time.
You can do a lot in six seconds.
Time to open and I do a quick check above me, even though I know there's just the four of us but it's better to follow the routine coz the one time you don't, there'll be someone above you when you open. There's no-one of course, 'n I'm stable, slightly up and my right hand finds my pilot chute handle and I'm using my left arm to stay stable and my altimeter says I'm at six thousand, four thousand feet above ground which is perfect and I pull the handle hard and throw it into my slip stream.
As soon as the pilot chute's inflated and pulling out the bridle, I move into a legs down position, almost sitting in the air so I can look up and watch my canopy as it opens. The bridle pulls out the closing pin from the container, the D-bag follows and as the bridle pulls the D-bag out of the container, the lines unfold and emerge, pulling the risers from the container as the canopy inflates. The slider's there, holding the lines together, sliding down the lines as the chute opens.
There's a reason for the slider. It's nothing but a piece of nylon that holds the lines together. Dropping at terminal velocity, you don't want the canopy to open in too much of a rush coz that'd jerk you from 120mph to 10mph in a second and that'd hurt. Not just that, if the canopy opens to fast you can snap lines or rip the canopy and nope, you don't want that at all. So the slider slides down the lines as the canopy opens and it slows down the opening just enough and keeps the lines from tangling as the chute inflates.
There's a jerk though. There always is and my canopy inflates above me and now I'm not falling free, I'm floating, I'm flying, sailing through the air under my canopy and off to one side, Rog's opened at the same time and we're floating through the air together, high in the sky and below us there're two flowers of color as Fred and Pops open, far closer to the ground than Rog and I.
I have the steering toggles in my hands now and I bank, curving in closer to Rog, banking again and we're floating together parallel to each other. Not to close, coz I'm no stunt jumper doing formation stuff. Neither's Rog and both of us play it safe. We've only been jumping for a year, this is our second summer and Fred and Pops have drummed it into us. No risks. No hot dogging. No stunts coz that's what gets you in trouble.
A long gentle bank over the field and we're drifting down slowly, and I'm totally alive and everything's so vivid. Hanging in the air, there's nothing but a few thousand feet of air between me and the ground and it's so fresh and clean and crisp up here, the air is like nothing else except maybe high on some pristine mountain peak and I breath in, tasting it and it's so pure.
Sound. I notice that every time. On the ground, there's always noise. Farm machinery, cars, music, people talking. Up here, silence. With my canopy open, there's no longer that rush of the wind you experience as you free fall. There's only a blissful silence, a faint whistle through the canopy and I'm so relaxed, my mind almost empty, just absorbing the sheer beauty of hanging in the sky and Rog and I float down together, banking and turn with each other, not really thinking, just doing and it's as close to nirvana as I think I'll ever be.
Lower, floating lower and now the field's closer with every second. Neither of us are flying with the smaller sports canopies so we're descending slowly, and me, I like that. Canopy time is my favorite. Pops likes to freefall, he always pops at the last second but me, I like that long flight through the air and I'm enjoying this. Down on the field, somebody's laid out the target and I'm thinking that I'd going to try and touch down near it coz there's next to no breeze right now and I can do this.
Rog is heavier than me, he's descending faster, he's below me and he knows where I am coz he's banked away and he's distancing himself and I'm enjoying this, this final slow descent to the field. Below me, Fred's chute collapses, then Pops and they're both down and I'm banking again, circling, judging distances, checking my rate of descent, lining myself up on the target and for a second I think about swooping in fast but I'm not that good, not yet and it's too easy to misjudge and slam into the ground if you do that.
I've seen that once, at another field. Wasn't good and I'm not going to try it yet and I'm banking, lining up, low and slow now and Rog is down and I'm the only one in the sky and they're all looking at me, pale faces looking up and I'm working the steering toggles just a little, small adjustments and I'm totally focused on that little target and I love this as I slide across the field, heading into what wind there is and I'm holding now, just a few feet above the grass, flaring a little, slowing to a stop and I'm almost on the target, a foot above it and sinking. The toe of one shoe touches dead center in the middle, I collapse my chute and it crumples onto the grass in that second I'm no longer a bird, soaring effortless though the air.
