There has been a constant drumbeat of requests (okay, one) for more details on my skydiving adventure. So here you go.

First thing that happens when you arrive at the skydiving place is they make you sign dozens of papers. These papers describe the various ways you could die or be maimed, and you have to sign to acknowledge that you could die or be maimed, and that basically you’re cool with that. While you do this, there is a television in the corner playing a video in which a man with a obscenely long beard sits behind a large desk droning about the various ways you could die. And to top it off, they have you record, on camera, not unlike the Iranian hostages, the fact that you accept that you could die. It’s hard to pretend it’s not a big deal after you’ve done everything but pick out your epitaph.

Note that this contract includes the possibility of poisonous snake bites. Snakes on a plane?

I also got the chance to pick which song I wanted in my video. I had many choices, but it soon became clear that I really only had one. What other song can you get but Jump by Van Halen?

Then we waited. And waited. Apparently there were several groups in front of us. So we sat around the airstrip, stomach juices churning. I pooped at least three times - probably a good thing, because we were all unnaturally preoccupied with the idea that would could accidentally poop mid-air out of fear. (Little did I know how tightly my ass would be clenched with terror).

I thought we’d be humming “Free Falling.” But we ended up humming “The wai-ai-ting is the hardest part.”

After three hours wait, we got the official word: They were putting all jumps on hold due to high winds. Crankily we sat down to eat, all of us certain we’d be going home soon. No sooner had I bitten into my turkey sandwich than our names were called over the loudspeaker. We were going up.

From the time my turkey melt was dropped on my plate to the time we were taking off took less than 20 minutes. It was a whirlwind of jumpsuits and goggles and straps and instructors whose gallows humor didn’t put anybody at ease. Next thing you know I was in a tiny shitty loud plane watching the ground drop away through a little bitty window.

At 14,000 feet the door opened. It was, quite simply, terrifying. Standing on the edge of that plane, seeing the ground so far below. If you would like to know what I look like frightened, here it is:

I cannot take any credit for the jump itself. The burly man strapped to my back did all the work (how many times have I used that sentence). But a few seconds after I was out of the plane, my terror went away completely.

The best I can explain is this: When you are standing on a roof, or a mountaintop, or even a plane, looking down at the ground, there is an instinctive biological fear. Millions of years of evolution has caused your noggin’ to say “Careful! That could kill you, and thus deprive you of the chance of passing your twisted little sperms on to a lady and continue with the species.” It is natural to be afraid. Those who do not are probably some sort of clone or alien or alien clone. I do not trust them.

But nothing in all of human history has prepare the brain for the process of falling from 12,500 feet. It is just air and noise and whooshing. Objectively, you know you’re falling. But because you have nothing to compare it to, there is no fear. There is just an odd sense of “Huh. This is weird.”

First person to photoshop this into Nirvana’s Nevermind album cover wins a prize.

Eventually the chute deployed (my Burly Guy did the honors) and we drifted slowly to the ground. The Burly Guy pointed out sites of interest that were not entirely that interesting. This was my least favorite part - I don’t like small talk in general. Its even worst at 5,000 feet, in a forced-spooning position with a Burly Guy.

After a few “so, where are you from?” minutes, we touched down. For the record, I was told to land on my ass. Honest.

All in all, I can’t say if I fun or not. It was more of an experience. It’s hard to even imagine it, even though I’ve done it. But I’m very glad I did it. And I’m even gladder I did not poop my pants.

PS - For more photo fun of my trip, feel free to check out my Flickr set, and leave a few dirty comments while you’re at it.