The Thinking Drinking Man Goes Skydiving

I have never been skydiving before. And since arriving in Australia, I was quickly scribbling through my list of "Things I've Never Done Before". What better a place to loose my skydiving virginity than Cairnes Australia. After I put down my deposit at the Tandem Cairnes office, I figured it was time to celebrate my new found sense of adventure, so I went out.

I was rudely awakened the following morning by Gloria, the live-in landlord from hell for Caravella Backpackers Hostel barking on the loudpseaker about someone leaving dirty dishes in the kitchen. I hoped down from my top bunk, landed on an pair of soccer cleats. Who the hell brings soccer cleats to the beach, and made my way outside to be greated by blinding sunshine and the realization that I was hungover. I headed towards the Mud Cafe next door and got my usual bacon and egg toastee with a strawberry milkshake. The bus picked me up at 10:00 am on the dot and after a two hour bus ride that seemed instantaneous cause I was passed out, I locked eyes with a very odd looking Asian man starring at me through the glass from outside the bus. He motioned to me to come inside so I grabbed my stuff and hoped off the bus. As I sat there in the pounding sun, cursing mankind for creating a beer as delicious as Cooper's Ale, Tuts, the "interestingly configured" Malaysian I saw earlier, who happened to by my tandem guide told me we had 22 minutes till we got on the plane. Then it finally hit me. I may possibly have only 22 minutes left on planet earth because I will soon be jumping out a plane at 14,000 feet with a complete stranger strapped to my back. FML. I quickly got up, did a few quick spins to get my bearings, and sprinted into the house. What was I doing? I am the Thinking Drinking Man, and I sure as hell am going to make the best of possibly my last 22 minutes on earth. A few minutes later Tuts walked in and I am guessing he told me it was time to go. He gave me the thumbs up, I belched, stepped over the three beers I found in the fridge, and marched towards the plane.

Let’s just say the plane was a lot smaller than I expected. It was a white and orange single engine Cessna 150 and it was about the size of my car. I would not feel comfortable 14,000 ft in the air in something the size of my car. I asked Tuts if the plane could make it to 14,000 ft, and he responded in broken English, “Yeah, but probably no higher”. Comforting.

As we ascended, the beer started to kick in and I became my usual inquisative self. I started taking note of my surroundings, and only then did I realize that Tuts was about the size of a small child. I am 6'3, 210 pounds. A small child, even a fat one, wouldn't be a third my size. Is this actually going to work? I started grilling Tuts, only to be answered in broken English that he was a pizza man three weeks ago. Before I could truly freak out and start going crazy, I heard the door swing up and before I could blink, my legs were hanging over the side of the plane with 14,000 feet of nothing between me and some really hard dirt. Tuts said something along the lines of "eh, uh, oh", which I later realized was "one, two, three", and within seconds I was flying through the air at 130 mphs strapped to a poor english speaking Malaysian wondering if he could even see the ground considering his head came up to me lower back. I better not fart or he may very well may pass out and then I would really be screwed.

Once I actually calmed down, I realized how amazing the view was. I had the Great Barrier Reef to my right and a tropical rain forest to my left. This is pretty awesome. But sadly, the feeling was quickly gone because seconds later we opened our shoot and I suddenly realized that the beers I pounded before I got on the plane was not my greatest idea. Tuts had use swirling in all directions and before I could yell at him to cut it out, I had Coppers coming out of my mouth and nose. Because of our speed, the barf was streaking down my face, over my shoulders, and onto Tuts' face, who instantly got really pissed that I had thrown up on him. Tuts unhooked me the second we landed and I did a few graceful barrel rolls across the grass and ended up face down some sand. I waited a few minutes before trying to move in hopes of convincing my fellow onlookers that I in fact was a bad ass and skydiving was a piece of cake. But before I could muster any strength, I was lifted up up by what appeared to be the Asian version of Frodo. I was still dizzy and very disoriented and by the time I came to, I saw Tuts in front of me flaring his arms and pointing to the bark all over his shirt. I gave him a quick head rub and a pat on the back and made my way to the van. Minutes later I was replenishing the Cooper's I had so easily given up a few minutes earlier at about 3,500 feet. Today was an awesome day.

If any of you'll plan on going skydiving in the near future, the Thinking Drinking Man has a few pointers for you.

1. Try to avoid getting drunk the night before.
2. Do not pound a few beers right before getting on the plane.
3. Make sure you have a cooler full of ice cold bruskies waiting on you the second you land.