The post two days ago told the tale of the first time I (and my new girlfriend) jumped out of an airplane, and the post yesterday was about the second skydive.
Both those jumps were tandem jumps. We were securely attached to professional Tandem Master skydivers who did all the work. We were basically just along for the ride. I’d say it was the ultimate “E” ticket, but only old-time patrons of Disneyworld would know what that means. Suffice to say it’s the coolest carnival ride you can imagine. And after you’ve jumped out of an airplane a few times, even the wildest roller coasters seem a bit tame.
As I mentioned in the first tale, when they saw how much we loved jumping they immediately began whispering in our ears, “AFF. AFF.” When we came back for another, the whispering got louder!
Yesterday I told the tale of my first skydive with then new girlfriend (and now ex-wife). We both loved our first jump so much we came back a week later for second jump.
I wrote the original version of these stories about a year later. The versions here have been slightly revised to fill in some details, obfuscate some names and improve (I hope) the quality of the writing.
So sit right down and you’ll read a tale, a tale of a fateful trip. (And ironically, for those who caught the reference, the round-trip driving time to Hutch is about three hours.)
The next several posts are trips down memorex lane. They recall one of the most exciting times of my life. I’d just started an incredible relationship with a girlfriend who later became my first (and so far only) wife. That the marriage didn’t last but a small handful of years and that we’ve been divorced at least twice as many years doesn’t at all detract from the wonder of joy of those early years.
It was in that setting that I (we) tried skydiving for the first time and fell (pun definitely intended) in love with it. These posts (which were first written back then and have since been slightly revised) are about those experiences.