![]() How they’d lived in a succession of small towns: Garrison, N.D. She thought, too, of her father and her childhood. She thought about how they’d see each other soon. He knew what he needed to do.Īs they reached 750 feet, Shirley in front and Dave behind, Shirley thought about her mom, who’d died of cancer in 2000. He thought about her family on the ground, watching. This was the only jump of her life, that much Dave had known. That wasn’t the deal that Shirley had made, though. He understood that the sport might one day injure or kill him. He knew other men who became “drop-zone bums,” cutting themselves off from society and winnowing the world down to skydiving. He’d given up on having kids, on a family. At the end of his first tandem jump at Skydive Houston, Dave turned to his instructor: “What do I have to do to be able to do this all the time?”ĭave was back at the drop zone within a year. He was the guy who was up for anything, the one who’d join your bowling or darts team, who loved nothing more than grabbing a pint, eating buffalo wings, playing Trivial Pursuit and chasing girls. His buddy Steve Martin - friends loved to tease him about that name - had announced at his 40th birthday party the previous year that he wanted to skydive. He’d envisioned the maneuver countless times, ever since that first weekend, back in 2004. Normally he’d just reach over and pull the handle, the one that had suddenly disappeared. “God,” she said quietly, “please help David.”Ĭut away the canopy. That’s all Dave was thinking. Yet she was the one up there, spinning like a roulette wheel, plummeting toward the earth. The summer before, he’d hiked sections of the Rockies by himself. His father had been a rodeo rider, of all things. The one who went cliff diving as a young man. Folks drank Shiner Bock and Bud Light, then told stories around a bonfire many slept on-site in RVs.īill? He was the daredevil in the relationship. The drop zone was in a small private airport that had a clubhouse, kitchen and swimming pool. Then it was a sightseeing expedition down to the bottom, after which he’d grin for some photos, stow his gear and shower before the fun began. As always, the aim was the three S’s: for the canopy to be square, stable and steerable. For tandem jumps the rate was even lower: Only 0.0003% of jumpers perished.Īt 5,000 feet Dave pulled the main chute. The previous year, in 2008, there were 30 fatalities over the course of 2.6 million jumps, according to the United States Parachute Association. You’re more likely to die from a bee sting or a lightning strike. As Dave often told his students, the sport is surprisingly safe. There are thousands of things that can go wrong during a sky dive. As she’d been instructed in the brief training session before the jump, she threw her arms and legs behind her so that she fell belly first, allowing Dave to control the dive. In the first three seconds her body accelerated to 51 mph after nine seconds she and Dave had reached 120 mph, terminal velocity. Her forehead tightened, her cheeks tried to run off her face. Then her perspective flipped, and she was falling nose-first into a wind tunnel. And so it was that in the first moments after Shirley left the Super Otter, heart pounding, all she saw was the vast Texas sky, pocked by clouds. Then together the two cross their arms over their chests (to guard against a panicked grab for the railing), keep their legs together, count to three and drop out of the plane. To keep the student’s head from flying back in fear, the instructor cradles it up and away, against his right shoulder. A chance to connect with her sons.Ĭontrary to what you might imagine, the first thing you see upon exiting the plane on a tandem dive is not the ground but the sky. Well, here was an opportunity, a chance to explore life rather than retreat from it. She’d talked about it with her husband, Bill: If an opportunity came up - any good opportunity - they should take it. When you got to her age, you needed to try new things. A buddy from San Antonio had decided not to jump. Five minutes before she arrived, Shirley’s cell rang. The plan was for Joe and his friends to go skydiving, because of course Joe wanted to be like Will and make his first jump for his 30th birthday. She wondered, What in the world am I doing? Will had invited her down to Houston from her home in Teague, Texas, 150 miles to the northwest, for a barbecue to celebrate both her 54th birthday and his brother Joe’s 30th. Now here she was, wearing a bulky flight suit and preparing to jump out of an airplane. And when her older son Will, now a father to three, had decided to go skydiving on his 30th birthday a year earlier, she’d lobbied against it, without success. She steered clear of any vacation with the word adventure attached to it. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |