Confessions of a Timid Skydiver

Buffalo Press reporter Vanessa Goodwyn wears a smile of relief as she poses with her tandem skydive instructor, Aaron Erickson of Skydive Aggieland after their safe landing. Photo by Becca Dolling My husband did a romantic thing last month -- I guess. Either that, or he’s ready to get rid of me.

Just before my birthday Ron announced, “Don’t plan anything for next Saturday. We’ll go to Bryan and do dinner and a movie for your birthday.” I was impressed. No, I was aghast. While it may sound to you like a perfectly normal plan for celebrating a wife’s birthday, you have to understand that this man has never made such a statement in 38 years of marriage. Don’t get me wrong -- he’s the most generous person I know and would be perfectly fine with anything that I wanted to orchestrate. He’s just not into birthdays and not usually the planner.

Right on target -- Erickson and Goodwyn near the designated landing zone. Photo by Becca Dolling Saturday rolled around and as we drove up Highway 21, Ron turned in at the entrance to Coulter Field Airport. My query, “What are we doing here?” drew a cryptic grin and the statement, “Your birthday present is here.” He then approached an open hanger where several folks were busy -- folding parachutes. I... well, I freaked.

You need a little back- ground information here. Ron had done a tandem skydive years ago, and he loved it. Later he planned a jump for our son and daughter and their spouses on the occasion of their graduations from high school and college. Despite knowing that it would have been a great photo op, I did not even go along to take pictures for fear of being bullied into participating. My dad is a pilot and I grew up believing that time-honored phrase: You don’t jump out of a perfectly good airplane.

My high-pitched protests fell on deaf ears as Ron guided me (okay, dragged me) into the Skykdive Aggieland office. He had already paid for us both to jump and it was non-refundable (of COURSE), which clinched the deal for him. There was no backing out.

The mandatory pre-jump video did nothing to calm my shaken nerves, nor did the paperwork where you signed away your life -- AND your life insurance. Insurance companies, apparently, figure if you’re dumb enough to dive out of a plane, they’re smart enough to deny you coverage.

Several much more enthusiastic souls were lined up to jump before us. As each returned to the office with a crazy grin (and bugs on their teeth), I actually began to get a little excited about the coming adventure. Just before our turn came up, however, the ceiling (skydive talk for “clouds”) dropped too low for a safe jump and we were told to reschedule.

Calendar conflicts and bad weather bought me a few weeks’ reprieve, but eventually both cleared up and Ron declared it time. Really TIME. With a little more warning, I was able to roust up a cheering squad consisting of our two exchange students, a god-daughter, a son and a grandson. They seemed supportive enough, but while I was being fitted for my chute harness during ground training, I’m pretty sure I saw them playing Rock/Paper/ Scissors for my stuff in the event of something going amiss.

Speaking of things going awry-- and I kid you NOT-- a solo jumper in the plane just before mine did have an equipment malfunction. As we watched, the staffers began to comment on his “cutaway”. The jumper had released his first chute and had to deploy the reserve chute to land safely.

That seemed to me a last-minute omen and I got the message loud and clear, but apparently sky-diving is a lot like the theatre: The Show Must Go On. Soon I was being led toward the 1950’s-something Cessna 182 stripped of most of its seats, by a videographer named Dale and my new best buddy Aaron Erickson, my tandem instructor. “Buddy” may be too casual a term, since the two of us were soon to be strapped together so tightly that my husband should have been jealous, rather than waving me on with a cheerful grin.

The ride up to 9000 feet wasn’t bad, and I thought I kept my cool pretty well. Too soon, though, Aaron instructed me to turn my back to him and he fastened our harnesses together and cinched them down. Then the jump door was opened -- something which had never happened in all my flights with Dad and which felt tremendously WRONG. My anxiety didn’t matter, though -- Aaron was scooting us toward that gaping maw and yelling in my ear, “When you feel your feet leave the platform, give me a good arch!” And... I did.

The free fall lasted about thirty seconds, and according to the video I was goofylooking but not hysterical, so that’s good. Our chute opened on the first try, which was also good, and my return to Terra Firma was wonderfully non-eventful.

Would I do it again? I don’t need to, but it was a thrilling ride and the grandsons are pretty impressed.

On the way home we ate at Pei Wei’s and I grabbed two fortune cookies from the dozens in the jar. They read:

“Your life is a grand and bold adventure.”

(and)

“Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood.”

And the Chinese vocabulary words on the back? wo-un and choi-tgin:

My Moment.