Anytime I get too close to the edge of a relatively high fixed object I get that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know full well that it’s the last few inches that can destroy a body and I can calculate with a pretty good degree of accuracy the number of seconds until impact based on the height and time, if enough, to reach terminal velocity. A couple of steps back from the edge, however, and I can relax and let myself drift to the pure sweet mind freeing feeling of free fall from the clear airspace of an airplane 14,000 feet above ground level.
It had been almost three months since my last skydive and I couldn’t wait to get to the Lost Prairie Boogie at Meadow Peak Skydiving. As we drove down the dirt road, our truck kicking up prairie dust like a monster truck at a derby, I spotted the makeshift tents and the Skydive Arizona aircraft. I could feel a stupid smile coming on and looked eagerly to the sky for canopies, listening for the tell-tale sound of the airplane. Filling out the obligatory waiver, getting my gear checked and jump tickets purchased, I was finally on a load adrenaline pumping.
Contrast a valley, lakes, tall pines and the green meadows of Montana with the flat pastures, sparse yellow grass and thirsty ankle breaking ground holes of central Texas.
Wow, what a spectacular view from altitude! And just like that I was out the door on my knees, exiting near last on a light load, full view of the plane and thumbs up for the tandem videographer setting up, the drop zone easy to find. It was here in this grand setting that I would log my 1,000th skydive, feeling a whole bunch of love and gratitude for my family who give me blue skies and much more and so very blessed with friends from all walks of life. From my fellow skydivers I felt the age-old words “Him, Him, Fuck Him” resonate deep down inside – Oh I know I owe beer and, yes, I expect to get pied. Catch me if you can.
Next up: I Love Mondays