I've had plenty of times where I've taken a trip and wanted to repeat it to correct mistakes. Hadn't actually WANTED to do Lompoc over again, but there were a couple ways in which we could improve on it. Like the "hearing accessible" hotel room which wasn't. (You have to call ahead for that. You have to CALL AHEAD to tell them you need the pre-booked hearing accessible room actually set up to be hearing accessible.) Or the crappy restaurant we went to for dinner. And, of course, the whole wind-blowing-from-the-wrong-direction-so-we-can't-skydive thing. Admittedly, we didn't have much control over that. But the rest of it. Oh yeah, we're improving on the original.
I called ahead for the hearing accessible room. We got the same room as last time, but now they have attached one (1) sensor that turns the vibration of someone knocking on the door into a flashing light on the inside. Which was great, except when we had to call down to have someone fix the (unrelated) broken bathroom door, they managed to knock the vibration/flashy light sensor off the front door. We tried reattaching the damn thing, but then Jayne figured it would make way more sense on the door between us at night, where knocking might actually take place. Improved.
I had googled or yelped or whatever for good restaurants in Lompoc. (I don't mean to unnecessarily mock Lompoc, but seriously, there is no such thing as a GOOD restaurant in Lompoc. You're grading on a curve here.) There were two with high(ish) recommendations near us -- Eddie's Grill and a Mexican place named Floriano's. We'll come back to this later.
As we were driving up, it dawned on me that I really truly wanted a massage that night. That would be a Good Thing. I got a ton of credits at Massage Envy, but there's no Lompoc branch. (I, for one, am shocked.) I google for the next best thing: a cheap Asian Massage place. I find a few; only one is open late: Massage Yee. I decide to broach the topic once we're at the hotel. I admit that deciding to wait is a communication thing. Given enough time, I can get my point across in ASL, but the sentence "Hey, do you like cheap Asian massage places?" is going to require too much fingerspelling, and I don't want Jayne to take her eyes off the road long enough to figure me out.
So we arrive; we check in; we get our FANTASTIC hearing accessible room with AWESOME door knocky sensor; we go down to the "manager's reception" to enjoy our free wine (it's ... wine); get a table; and I now take another look at the internet to get a good handle on the location of Massage Yee.
It is across the parking lot from the hotel. I am not making this up; it's a LITERAL 2 minute walk. And you know what's on the way? Floriano's Mexican Restaurant. I pitch a plan to Jayne; she's up for it. I make an appointment at Massage Yee and we quickly down our wine.
Look, I know you're all here to read about the skydiving, but I feel obligated to point out that Massage Yee is terrific value for money, very nice on the customer service, and is either located in a former pediatrician's office or has a super-weird design aesthetic. I mean, sure, there's a sign on the wall saying that they've got Zero Tolerance for Soliciting Prostitution, but I don't know how anyone could even think of sex with all the teddy bear decor.
When we finished, we walked over the Floriano's, which is a Restaurant And Butcher, and it took a good bit of studying the menu to find that one Veggie Burrito hiding there amongst the dead things, so that Jayne could have something to eat. Tasty, though. I downed a coupla tacos.
Cut to the next day. Free breakfast happens. (Better than the free wine, if you're keeping score. We watching Spain lose to Russia in the World Cup. I'd heard many different languages spoken in the Lompoc Embassy Suites, but the breakfast crowd was pretty much unanimously rooting for Spain.) We drive to Skydive Santa Barbara.
First thing they have you do is fill out the multi-page waiver and watch the "no really, we have no insurance" video. I mean, it's something like four pages that boils down to, "I won't sue you. Or really, the small pile of my smoking remains won't sue you. Even if it was totally your fault. Totally." The waiver says they have an "accident log" you can review, and see the types of accidents that happen here, and I was pretty sure there was no way in hell I wanted to read that accident log. I was going to do this anyway, dammit. Ignorance is bliss. Or, at least, ignorance. I signed the waiver. It asks for your age. This was, actually, the first time I had to write "50" on something. Seemed suitable; this was the most bucket-listy thing I had. Best to do it a few days after my actual birthday.
Once they approve your waivers and take your money, they send you to wait in the hangar. There are a LOT of people in there. A foosball table, a life-size Jenga set, and a single bathroom for what I can only imagine is an impressive quantity of nervous urination. We ask how long our wait will be. We're jumping in group 7 and they're on 3 right now. They said it would be at least two hours. They give us directions to the nearest Starbucks. We tell them we'll be back in an hour. We stop for the "Before" picture.
Now, I live my life on the general principle that a Starbucks break is always a good thing. This one was a VERY good thing. I was nervous and nauseous and just sitting quietly with a cup of tea was a good idea. Jayne, who had jumped before, walked me through the whole experience. Then she encouraged me to run through all the other things I've jumped off of, or other adventurey things I'd survived and adored. I ran through it, even including the panic attack during the SCUBA certification. The whole thing calmed me down. After our hour, we drove back to the skydive place, ready to wait another hour.
Only to discover they'd been looking for us, and we were actually in the next group. (We took a minute to queue up for the Last Toilet Break.) We met our instructors. Mine was Sarah. She was nauseous too. Seriously. She pretty much introduced herself and then explained that she was a little nauseous 'cause of a med she was taking, but she's good and fine and it's no problem. I said I was nauseous too, so no problem if we didn't do all the spins and turns. She matter-of-factly informed me that she's a "sympathetic vomiter," so if I go, she goes, and we float back down to the landing zone both covered. We decide to try to avoid this scenario. She says a coupla things which give me confidence in her -- like that she's one of their most experienced instructors, and that her boyfriend works here and packed her chute (and they're doing quite well as a couple, thank you). And that, yes, that accent I'm hearing is Australian. Look, I know that Generalizations Based on National Origin are Bad. Still, safely jumping out of an aircraft is just one of those things I expect Aussies to excel at.
I have a moment to see Jayne's instructor talking to her from behind; of course, she has no clue what he's saying. I think this is probably one of those times that I ought to jump in and say something, so I point out that she's Deaf. I am both a little concerned that he hadn't noticed, and a little impressed by how much he just adapted and didn't seem to care.
Sarah walks me over to the plane. We get in, and she starts attaching my harness to hers. I notice the plane has a bunch of duct tape around the door. I comment that our plane is literally held together with duct tape. Sarah thinks this is a fair description. Oh well. It isn't like I'm not strapped to a person with a parachute. The "emergency exit" and the regular exit are pretty much the same thing.
Everyone piles in. We're all paired up, except for the few non-tandem jumpers. But we're all just sitting there in two long rows, facing the door. I'm attached to Sarah; Sarah is seat-belted in. She removes her seatbelt at about 1000 feet, because by then, there's only one way we're leaving this plane anyway. At one point, she tells me I'll put my goggles on at 12,500 feet, and we're only at 8,000. I tell her I probably don't need to know our altitude.
And here I'm pretty much going to just explain the four-minute video you'll see. (I should put "learn to edit videos" on my 50 for 50 list. Because I really want to edit this, but I tried three different apps and got errors or problems on them all.) ANYWAY, a solo jumper goes out the door and just DISAPPEARS out of view underneath us. And Jayne is next and we're after Jayne, and if you watch that video, you can very clearly make out me saying "Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit."
(Sarah said, "I'm an Aussie; we've heard 'em all.")
And out the damn door.
I am not saying "Holy shit," anymore.
I am not saying anything.
If you watch the video, it looks like I'm clenching my teeth in pain. This is not what's happening. During the freefall, we are moving so fast it feels like I'm having difficulty getting air into my lungs. (I don't see how that can possibly be true. I mean, it's ALL air. In fact, the only thing that I can safely say is in my immediate vicinity IS air. But I felt like I wasn't getting a really good breath going, and that's what you're seeing there.)
Also, your harness is spectacularly tight. As well it fucking should be. But, as soon as there is no longer aircraft underneath your ass, gravity is very interested in pulling you toward the planet at 9.8 m/s^2. You immediately drop down, as much as you can, within your harness. Result: that strap which HAD BEEN right under your bra, now slides upward. Bringing bra with it. So, now you know what I mean when I cheerfully tell Sarah I had a wardrobe malfunction. (There's one other bit where I say something while we're parachuting down. You can't hear it. Don't try to read my lips. I had no idea the camera was on.)
Once she opens the chute, and your speed drops, she also loosens the harness a tad, and you can sort of lean back all comfy-like and watch the scenery go by. She lets me drive a bit, and we do a long graceful turn to check things out, while she's amusingly narrating the sights of Lompoc. ("There's NASA/SpaceX. There's the federal penitentiary." Thus ends the sights of Lompoc.) There was ocean, too. It was quite pretty when I'd realized we would not, in fact, vomit on each other.
I'd been a bit worried about the landing, but here, the wind gave us one. We landed from the east, and the wind was blowing from the west, so it nicely kept the chute inflated and we just touched down. I mean, we stood up and that was it -- no sliding (like some others did) and no "running it out" to keep the chute behind us. We just landed, knees bent, standing there.
(OK, I lie. I was bending my knees pretty far and there was a human being attached to my back. She said, "You can stand up," and I said, "No, I can't," and one of the crew grabbed my arm and pulled me to vertical. Fuck it; I'm 50 -- them young 'uns can give me a damn hand.)
A link to the video, in all its unedited glory:
I'm Jumping Out A Damn Plane
Back on the ground, we did our "After" picture. Much more windblown, and I think I picked up a few more grey hairs.
Also, the amusing certificate:
Now, I was no longer nauseous. I was excited and bouncy. Jayne, however, had had a more twisty-turny ride, and wasn't feeling so great. So we got the heck out of there (after filling out the "comment cards" which are conveniently in the form of Tip Envelopes) and stopped at the pharmacy to pick up an antiemetic. Jayne wanted to just sit in the car and nap, and I figured I'd walk across the parking lot to ... why, it's Eddie's Grill, the OTHER recommended restaurant in Lompoc. (I can sum Eddie's up by the pictures of classic cars on the walls and the TVs showing the American Flag Football League.) Had a decent chicken sandwich, and was ready for the road trip back to L.A.
Oh, and when Jayne was in the pharmacy, I picked up this little souvenir of our trip to Lompoc. Not anything particularly Lompoc- or skydive-related, but I'll remember the trip whenever I see her, and who DOESN'T want a Beanie Baby kitten that looks like Jasmine? I figured I should have her peeking out of my purse like Paris Hilton does with that damn dog.
That's about it, really. We rode back to LA -- another Starbucks stop was involved -- and even on the road, the skydive seemed so far away. Did I really just jump out of an airplane? I have a video that says I did (n.b., glad I uploaded it -- Jasmine excitedly batted the flash drive under the sofa as soon as I ejected it) and some memories of viewing California from airplane-height without the presence of an actual airplane. I absently pet the little kitten Beanie in my purse, and thought a little bit about what a crazy wonderful world this place actually can be.
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